Murmuration
by I'vebeenLOKI'Dyetagain
Summary: *THOR 2 SPOILERS* Wait, what happens to the bilgesnipe? And what happens to Loki? (Post-movie, featuring some Thor/Jane romance, but mostly Thor and Loki bromance. Written as a salve for shattered feels.)
1. Murmuration

**WARNING: THOR 2 SPOILERS. If you haven't seen the movie yet, proceed no further on this story and go watch the movie. It is the most amazing thing in the history of ever, I'm not even kidding. **

**So yeah, I've seen Thor 2 twice now, and well, my mind exploded with ideas XD **

**I didn't want to put a detailed summary in the top in case people were browsing who hadn't seen it, so here's a better summary: _post-Thor The Dark World one-shot where Thor deals with the bilgesnipe that's still on Midgard, and eventually finds out that Loki is King of Asgard. There's some Jane/Thor romance in the beginning, but it's not much; this fic focuses on Thor and Loki bromance. Characters are slightly OOC, in that this wouldn't actually happen (there's an uncharacteristic amount of bromance, and hugging, and Loki being a good king). In the movie Loki's probably up to some conniving little plot to cause mischief, now that he has the throne, but that's not what's being explored here._**

**Thor 2 devastated my feels. I wrote this to make myself feel better ;3 I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"You came back," Jane breathes, as she finally pulls away from Thor's kiss.

"I did," he says.

There's something in his face, she thinks, something bright in his blue eyes, like the color of the sky before a thunderstorm.

She narrows her eyes, putting all her weight on her left leg as she leans into her left hip and crosses her arms. "Did you come back for _me_, or because I was yelling at Heimdall to get rid of that huge creature that's frolicking through Greenwich and chasing birds."

"Starlings," Darcy's intern says from the doorway (Ian, the name's Ian!). "It's called a murmuration."

Thor just chuckles, smile genuine but dying out before it reaches his eyes. "Both," he says, and Jane can't bring herself to slap him for his impudence.

There's too many shadows in his gaze.

He has, she realizes suddenly, seen both his mother and his brother stabbed and killed before his very eyes in the course of a few days, unable to prevent their deaths.

Jane realizes, and her heart aches.

"Well, pick your priorities big man," Darcy says, stepping out onto the porch, dragging her intern with her. "And I would suggest you take care of the monster first, because if you haven't noticed, there's nobody outside in this city because they're all sitting inside and watching it on TV."

Nodding, Thor takes Jane's hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as he says, "Forgive me, Lady Jane. I will return again."

"You'd better," Jane says, with more sass than she meant to.

Thor begins swinging his hammer. "I will dispose of the beast," he promises.

"Don't kill it!" Darcy exclaims.

"What else would you have me do?" Thor asks, bewildered. His fingers tighten slightly around his hammer, and Jane gets the feeling that he's just itching to bash something's head in.

"I don't know," Darcy says, shrugging. "Maybe the Hulk wants a pet?"

The humor is lost on Thor. Or else he just can't manage the effort to show amusement.

And Jane wants to be angry with him, when all he says is, "Then I will return the beast to its homeland," and shoots off into the air in streaks of silver and red (silver like rain, red like blood), but she can't help but empathize, remembering what it was like when her own parents died.

The three of them watch him fly off towards a murmurration of starlings.

"He looked broken," Darcy remarks.

Jane can only nod.

* * *

The bilgesnipe wasn't hard to locate, wasn't even hard to deal with.

_Don't kill it, don't kill it, don't kill it, _Thor had to keep reminding himself, as the gray beast lunged at him, apparently deciding he looked more scrumptious than the meager puffs of feather and bones called starlings.

He hits it. Again and again and again.

"_Hitting doesn't solve everything," Loki had said. _

Hitting hadn't saved his mother. Hitting hadn't prevented Loki's death. And hitting wouldn't bring either of them back.

But at least hitting makes Thor feel better.

The bilgesnipe roars at him, and Thor roars back, swinging his hammer against its head just hard enough to knock it out without causing any major damage.

Then he grabs the creature by its antlers and lets Mjolnir carry him back to Jane's lodgings.

He dumps the bilgesnipe in the yard, before striding to the door and knocking (gently) on the glass pane.

Jane's face appears, eyes widening as she takes in both him and the unconscious beast behind him, and he lets a small smile grace his lips.

"I said I would return, did I not?" he says, as she opens the door.

"A record!" Darcy calls, from where she's lounging on her intern's lap as he sits on the sofa in front of the TV where they'd been watching the scene. "First two years, then two days, and now two minutes!"

"Don't mind them," Jane says, about to gesture him inside before she thinks better of it, instead stepping outside and shutting the door behind her.

She tilts her chin towards the bilgesnipe. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Take it back to Jotunheim."

"So you'll be leaving?"

"Yes."

"But you'll come back?" Jane beseeches, widening those caramel eyes. (Not blue—not like they'd been in the Dark World, with the Aether possessing her. Not like they'd been before Loki died...)

A slight hesitation, before a low, "You have my word." Like it's some sort of secret, something he shouldn't be agreeing to, something she should know and he shouldn't have to say.

Jane casts her eyes down. "I'm sorry," she says. "About Frigga, and... and Loki. I know what it's like to lose family two family members in a short amount of time."

When she looks up, Thor looks down, and Jane is abruptly aware of the fact that she's wearing purple fuzzy slippers.

"I lived with a talented liar for thousands of years, Jane," the thunderer says softly. A rumble of thunder thousands of miles away. "I know you cared not for Loki. I know you don't understand."

She opens her mouth, but he looks up then, pressing one of his large, calloused fingers over her lips. "I do not blame you for it, Jane. Loki... became a very different man in the last few years. But before that..." his voice is thick and heavy with nostalgia, gathering in his voice like rain. "We were the best of friends. For thousands of years, Jane, we played together, we fought together."

His eyes shut, and his face twists as if he's just been stabbed; as his finger falls from her lips she catches his hand in both of her own, rubbing her fingers in circles over his knuckles.

"We are not immortal. We are not unaware death. But while you humans have to live a mere decades with the pain of loss, we Æsir must carry it with us for millennia."

"Then why," Jane says, voice hitching uncontrollably in a sob. "Why are you even with me, a mortal? Why not—why not be with Sif, or whatever her name is?!"

Opening his eyes, Thor place his hand on the back of Jane's neck. She leans her cheek into his arm.

"Because I love you, Jane," Thor says. And there's naught but honesty in his voice, enough that if Loki were watching he'd be sick. "And what time we shall have together will be well worth the memories."

Their lips find each other for several long moments.

Jane tastes of cinnamon.

Thor tastes of rain.

"I have a question for you," Thor says, once they break apart.

"Yes?"

"Why is it that you only slapped Loki once, but you slapped me twice?"

Jane looks at him like _"__Seriously?" _but before she can answer there's a gravelly growling behind Thor, and he turns in time to see the bilgesnipe get to its feet and shake itself.

"Odin's beard," Thor grumbles, swinging his hammer so he lands on the beast's head, holding on to its antlers. "Heimdall!" he shouts.

There's a blinding flash, a white and rainbow beam, forcing Jan'es gaze away. When she's able to look again, Thor and the creature are gone.

She blinks the echoes of rainbow from behind her eyes and wonders _why. _

Why, when there are billions of people in the world, she has to fall in love with a god.

* * *

A clubbed tail swings over Heimdall's head as the thunder god arrives on the bilgesnipe.

"Stupid. Creature." Thor grinds out, holding its antlers with one hand while holding Mjolnir above him with the other, so that the bilgesnipe is hovering just above the ground, flailing, unable to hit him and unable to get purchase on anything in order to shake him off.

It would be so much easier to just kill it.

"Heimdall, get rid of it before it bites me!" Thor orders, and Heimdall removes his sword from the control slightly, the Observatory spinning and altering its course, the bifrost beam beginning to build.

The bilgesnipe finally strikes Thor with its tail, and when the thunderer lets go the creature lunges up and bites his left arm.

Of course.

"I said _before _it bites me," Thor growls, giving it a good smack in the nose with Mjolnir, dislodging its jaws from his arm and sending it stumbling back into the bifrost beam, whisked away to Jotunheim.

"My apologies," Heimdall intones in his deep voice, pushing his sword all the way in and causing the Observatory to slow to a stop.

Thor just waves his bloodied hand, letting the gatekeeper know that he forgives him.

He's by not means unaccustomed to injuries from battle, and a meager bite from a bilgesnipe is far from the worst he's had to endure.

And if he were to be honest with himself, the physical pain is almost a relief compared to the ache in his chest that he tries so desperately to ignore; walking down the bifrost back towards Asgard, he watches the red blood trickle from the punctures in his arm (because of course he'd decided to wear his metal and leather vest to visit Jane, instead of his full armored suit), and he lets the pain fill his senses, even while the blood fills his gaze.

_Red blossoming on the turquoise fabric, trickling from the corners of her lips, eyes closed so peacefully, long blond hair fanned out on the ground around her._

_Red, dark and glistening wet in the dim light of the ghostly sun, his fingers fluttering over the injury before grabbing one of those cold, pale hands, as he watches the deathly gray consume that pallid face, glaze those green eyes. _

"_Do you hear me, Brother?! There's nothing you can do!"_

"_It's too late. It's too late to stop it." _

So many times Thor's had to watch helplessly as Loki fell.

Making his way through the halls towards the Healing Rooms, the voice of the Allfather stops him.

"Thor."

"Father," the thunderer says, turning, still unknowingly holding tight to Mjolnir's grip while he lets his left arm fall to his side.

_Drip. Drip. _

Two spots of red on the floor.

"I thought perhaps you would not be coming back," Odin states, in one of his characteristically uncouth attempts at humor. He made it more than clear, from Thor's first mention of Jane Foster over two years ago, that he does not approve of her.

Thor supposes wryly that that's what the Allfather gets for banishing him to Midgard.

"You know I would never abandon Asgard," Thor says flatly, as Odin takes hold of Thor's arm, touch unusually gentle as he crushes a healing stone over the gouged flesh, skin knitting together and leaving no traces except dried blood.

Odin raises an eyebrow. "So you say. Yet you still won't accept the throne."

"We have been over this already," Thor growls, jerking his healed arm away. "Can you not leave it alone? Loki—"

"Do not tell me you're _still _mourning over that criminal. Such sulking is unbecoming. A warrior—"

"Were you not affected?!" Thor roars, turning on him. "I am starting to suspect you never loved Loki at all! That everything—like Loki said—was a lie!"

"Why do you insist on defending that miscreant?" Odin snaps.

"Why do you insist on blaming him for everything, even that which is not his fault?" Thor counters, hands tensing into fists by his side, the grip of Mjolnir burning in his grasp. "Loki died with honor. He saved my life, at the cost of his own. And you're _still _not proud of him?!"

"You openly admitted to me when I declared his punishment eternal imprisonment in the dungeons, that you held no hope for the man who was once your brother," Odin snarls.

Thor manages to take a deep breath, glancing to the side. "It's not that I understand Loki's actions," he says, turning his gaze back to the Allfather. "It's just that I'm trying to understand them.

"He has always been my brother, and I have always loved him. Nothing you can do or say will take that away from me."

Affronted, Odin takes a step back, looking him over with his one, pale blue eye narrowed.

"So you are denying the fact that Loki was a monster?"

"Loki," Thor grinds out, "Was never a monster."

Odin's eye burns into Thor. "I see," the Allfather says finally, before turning and striding away.

"And what about mother?" Thor calls after him, watching as Odin stiffens slightly and pauses. "Do you not mourn for her? You seemed blind enough by sorrow to sacrifice every Asgardian against the Dark Elves. Are you once again proving your likeness to Malekith?"

Turned away from Thor, the Allfather's lips twitch. "A mistake," he says softly, beginning to walk again, "That I will not repeat."

* * *

Something about the conversation hovered at Thor's conscious, as incessant as a gnat hovering about his ear, the softest hum of wings, the slightest movement in his peripheral vision.

(However it wouldn't be till months later that everything snapped together.)

Odin had changed, that much was certain, but at first Thor thought the old man had actually learned something from the invasion of the Dark Elves.

"A true King never seeks out War," the Allfather said. "But he must always be ready for it."

He imposed improved security measures, fixing the castle's shield himself, and making the castle guards undergo more battle training, setting Tyr and Lady Sif in charge of it.

The Allfather began once more leading battles when trouble flared somewhere in the Nine, and with him at the helm with new and improved battle strategies, the skirmishes were settled swifter and more bloodlessly than ever.

Sometimes they didn't even need to fight, as Odin sorted out the trouble by meeting with the rebellions' leader, and they would strike a deal that left everybody satisfied (except for those consumed with battle lust, whom Odin would discover and remove from duty, sending them on hunting expeditions instead.)

And for once in Thor's life, his father actually listened to his counsel, taking his ideas and opinions into consideration even if he didn't normally agree with them.

But it was remarkable how quickly Odin brought Asgard out of the despair they'd fallen into after the attack of the Dark Elves. Not only were the physical damages to the city repaired, but everyone's mental spirits, their pride and confidence that the next time Asgard was invaded they'd be prepared to defend themselves.

All the Dark Elf technology was analyzed, and defenses developed against it, should anything like them lay siege against the golden city again.

After being so caught off guard by the dark beings most of the Æsir had never even heard about, education was being promoted, both how to fight against enemies with long-distance weapons, and studies of the Nine Realms and defense and healing magic.

Nobody was imprisoned. ("Remember what happened the last time we took prisoners?") Instead, obstinate enemies were killed, and those that could be swayed were, and were often set to work improving their villages.

The Allfather was merciless, but he was not cruel.

"Times change," was Odin's only comment when Thor inquired about the new protocol. "The Realms are adapting, and we must adapt with them, or else become naught but history like the Dark Elves. And such a fate shall not befall us."

* * *

Loki's king now.

Playing as Odin, but the people love him (or at least think that they do.)

Power is corrupting, but whenever Loki thinks of abusing it, when he realizes that he's king and he can do whatever the Hel he wants... a moment of introspection is all it takes for Loki to shy away from the impossibility that is his desire, and to focus instead on the good of Asgard.

It's a distraction, he tells himself.

And really, there'd been so many reforms he'd been wanting to make—Odin had been doing so many things wrong.

Kings must be clever.

Kings must be strong.

(Kings must be alone.)

But he can't help but remember a black blade plunging through his chest.

And oh, it had worked perfectly, as the monster pulled him along the blade, close enough for Loki to secure the Dark Elves' own weapon onto its belt, and the creature shoved him off the blade to the ground, gaping hole in his chest, pain like what it must feel like to be a bolt of lightning—that searing.

It felt for a moment, he thinks, like satisfaction, the tang of copper on his tongue and virulent words in his throat, spitting them out at the monster's feet as the vortex ate it away.

And then Thor was there, grabbing his hands and pulling him close and telling him to stay, to stay with him, as panic clouded Loki's mind.

The plan had worked so _perfectly. _

"I'm a fool," he'd whispered, knowing he'd doomed himself to loneliness again. "I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry."

Had he been? At that moment, he was pretty sure that he was, sorry for tearing himself away again.

But it was the only way.

He needed to be an impossibility, so that none could think of him when things got suspicious; he needed to be darkness so that none would see him strike.

(But oh, what did he want? As his body shut itself down around his protected soul, letting his flesh die to keep him alive and the last sight he saw was the blue of Thor's eyes, he thought maybe he'd just thrown it away.)

Then Thor was gone.

Drawing himself out of his own body, Loki spared a glance at his own decaying body as the green of his magic wound around his new form and drew over him like a cloak his Einherjar disguise, before sauntering through one of his secret pathways (he has so, so many) like the worlds belonged to him.

And soon enough they would.

* * *

"I miss them," Thor says, coming up to the railing beside Loki in Odin's guise, Huginn and Munnin perched on either of his shoulders.

He nods to them, sending them soaring off into the darkening blue sky, doing a few aerial acrobatics on the breath of eventide, the way that ravens sometimes do.

"You can go down to Midgard and see your mortal friends whenever you please," Loki says nonchalantly, hands on the stone in front of him, eye on the horizon as the sun flees the invisible wolf that pants close behind.

"No," Thor says, "I mean Frigga and Loki."

Turning to Thor, Loki sees a single tear in one of those cerulean eyes, silver in the day's shadow as it slips down his cheek.

"You really miss your brother," he says, disbelief thick in his voice.

Thor glares at him. "Yes."

"No," Loki sighs, shaking his head. "No, you don't. If you were told he was alive, you'd immediately ask what trouble he'd caused, and be ready to go reprimand him, pound some sense into his head and bring him back in chains."

"That would not be the way of it," Thor growls. His eyes flash, lightning in the dark clouds behind them. "You know naught of what you speak."

"Oh but I think that I do," Loki hisses sibilantly, leaning closer to meeting the thunder's gaze unflinchingly, a sneer on his lips. "I know you better than you do, oh _mighty _Thor. You may think you feel for your brother, but you're blind to what's before you and only ever realize what you have once it's _gone. _Your sentiments for Loki are glorified by his death, like the first time he fell—but as soon as he shows up you toss him back to the ground."

Loki lets his guard down, only for a moment.

But apparently a moment is enough.

"No," Thor snarls, "You're wrong."

"Am I?" Loki smirks, leaning back, heart writhing like a snake in his chest, and he feels the darkness leak in through the cracks.

"Yes!" Thor says, and when he shakes the figure before him, it flickers, and instead of looking into the ancient face of the Allfather he finds himself looking into a face young and sharp and pale, framed by raven-onyx tresses.

One blue eye becomes too green, and the shoulders beneath his hands feel suddenly all hard lean muscle and bone.

"Loki," he breathes, staggering back. His eyes narrow suddenly. "I should have known," he growls.

A wry smile twists those thin lips. "Now you see me, Brother," he whispers.

And when an arm presses him against the wall, Loki laughs.

"What did you do with Father?" Thor demands.

"I did nothing," Loki says, tilting his chin up as he shakes his head, eyes glinting. "Though I must admit I came prepared to kill him, such actions proved unnecessary. As it turned out the Allfather was worn out, grief from Frigga's death and the threat of the Dark Elves. He fell into the Odinsleep, and instead of waking up he faded away," his lips twitch. "But if it's any consolation I gave him a proper funeral for a warrior, flaming boat and everything."

"Tell the truth!" Thor demands, grabbing Loki by the collar and tossing him to the ground, standing over him, hammer in hand.

Loki laughs. _I told you so, _his green eyes say. _I told you that you didn't really love me. _

"You've used that lie on me once before, trickster," Thor rumbles. "I will not be fooled again."

"You must know me even less than I thought, if you think I would use the same lie twice," Loki snorts, getting to his feet and walking to the balcony, turning so he leans back against the stone ledge, the moon behind his head and casting him as a dark silhouette against the gloaming gray backdrop of the firmament.

"How long have you been king? What are you plotting against Asgard?"

When Loki speaks, his voice cracks with fury, or else barely-disguised pain. _"__Of course _you think I'm up to something. All those reforms, all those new protocols that have picked Asgard out of the dirt of defeat and buffed her up to shine again—_all of that was me. _All of it. _Odin," _he spits the name, "Gave up before you'd even returned."

Thor tightens his grip on Mjolnir. "Loki," he says warningly.

"_Of course," _Loki continues, voice rising into hysterics, hands clenching into fists at his side. "Of course when I wear Odin's guise, you don't question my orders, when they've actually been _benefiting _Asgard, but as soon as you know it's me you suspect me of plotting something! If I wanted to take over the Nine Realms, believe me," he leans forward, green eyes glinting like dagger blades, "Everyone of you would already be _kneeling." _

Thor stands frozen still, before suddenly he's lurching forward.

Loki braces himself for the blow.

It never comes.

"Oh Loki," Thor breathes, embracing the rigid form of his younger brother, the familiar scent of Loki's citrus pomade rushing over him. "_Never_ do that to me again. I thought you dead. _Again, _I thought you dead. Loki, you _died _before my very eyes! That's the second time you've done this to me, made me suffer for you."

Loki feels Thor's warm tears falling down his neck, soaking his collar.

"I hope you're satisfied," Thor murmurs.

"I've already told you satisfaction isn't in my nature." Against his will, Loki trembles, finally letting himself relax in his brother's embrace. "What's wrong with me?" he whispers, voice shattered.

"Oh Loki... there's nothing wrong with you."

"There must be. The whole world hates me."

Frowning into Loki's hair, Thor says, "I do not hate you."

"Well then you are a _fool."_

"Maybe I am. But I do know that you can never be complacent. Where have you been casting your mischief, brother?"

Dark snickers wrack Loki's form. "Oh, there are enough enemies of Asgard to keep me entertained. Have you never wondered why we are so often attacked by naught but chaotic masses that are fighting each other as much as us?"

Thor leans back, letting his left hand rest on Loki's shoulder as with his right he wipes a tear from Loki's cheek bone. "I'm proud of you, Loki," he says. "You make a great king."

The smile that stretches Loki's lips is frail, tenuous as gossamers. "I'm living a lie. I've been living a lie all my life, and now I've crafted one for myself. You know the Æsir will never follow _me. _Even Sif and the Warriors Three thought nothing of committing treason the first time, when they knew it was me."

"We will figure something out," Thor says with conviction. "The world can hate you, but I'll always be by your side."

Curling his lips in a sneer, Loki hisses, "Sentiment."

The dagger plunges hilt-deep into Thor's side in burst of white-hot pain.

But this time Thor doesn't let go, pulling Loki back into his arms as the Mischief God breaths, "There's something wrong with me, Thor. All I want to do is hurt you."

"It's okay," Thor says, one hand around Loki's waist, the other against the back of his head, fingers threading through inky hair. _You don't have to wreak havoc in order to get my attention. _

There's a clatter as Thor removes the dagger from his side and tosses the blood-stained blade across the floor.

Loki's the one who pulls away, pushing Thor violently away from him as he stalks to the balcony, leaning his forearms on the stone as he clasps his hands in front of him, eyes scouring the darkness that has fallen over the golden city, one moon gilding it in silver while the other edged it with red.

(He wonders idly why he's the one who lurks in the dark if the night gowns in Thor's colors, and why Thor dominates the day when the sun glimmers through green leaves and dances on golden streets.)

"You can't keep this facade up," Thor says, joining him overlooking the city. "Pretending to be Odin."

"And why not? You never figured it out, I don't see how anyone else would."

"Isn't it exhausting?" Thor asks, tilting his head to examine his brother's still-wasted form, concern lacing his voice.

Loki's chuckles are full of spiderwebs. "No more exhausting than running. Though it's not quite as... _diverting _as playing villain, I must admit."

"But others will discover you, Loki," Thor says, placing a hand urgently on Loki's arm. "And they'll imprison you or—"

"Or kill me?" Loki asks, raising his eyebrows as he regards his brother, lips quirking amusedly though his eyes are dark. "They can certainly _try." _

"Brother, I'm serious," Thor says gruffly, taking both Loki's shoulders in his thunder-thewed grip. "This trick of yours won't work forever."

Lifting his chaos-green gaze to meet Thor's, Loki licks his lips as they twist into a sardonic smirk, his Odin guise beginning to flicker back over his features. "You want to bet on that?"


	2. Susurration

**Surprise! This is no longer a one-shot! It will now probably end up as a three-shot, as there's still more I want to write after this. **

**Blame (or thank) Ghost Rider of the Aragon for her suggestions on continuing this.**

**Anyways, this chapter has even more humor than the last one. Lots of bromance! Incredibly AU. As in, this would NEVER EVER actually happen, heh. Basically I've been feeling kind of random, and then I haven't had much writing time lately, so this was me finally getting to write. And enjoying it. A lot XD  
**

**I hope you enjoy ;3**

* * *

In the frozen realm there is a susurration, a hissing of wind, a silken skittering of snowflakes across the ice. The kind of soft noises that are harbingers to something loud and, usually, shocking.

And so of course as King Byleistr of Jotunheim is lounging on his throne, the Jotuns in front of him suddenly glance up at the rupturing sky, diving out of the way just as the bifrost beam shoots down in the very center of the throne room.

They are all up on their feet in moments, armors and weapons of ice crackling over their hands and bodies as they prepare to attack the Asgardian invaders, only to stare in obfuscation at the bilgesnipe that is now in the center of open chamber, shaking its scaly hide and gnashing its teeth, dark blood dripping from its snout.

"What in the Nine Realms?!" a random Jotun exclaims.

"Brøl!" cries Byleistr, running over to the bilgesnipe and stroking its nose as the beast nuzzles its flat snout against him. "Wherever have you been?! You've been missing for days!"

The bilgesnipe, apparently named Brøl, just makes a low grumbling sound in its throat, before sneezing violently, tiny black feathers fluttering from between its teeth.

Byleistr stares at them. "Midgard?" he asks, as he picks one up, the entire feather disappearing between his blue thumb and forefinger. "How the Hel did you end up in Midgard?"

"Wait a moment," a Jotun ventures. "Is this the lost pet you've been lamenting about?"

"Yes," Byleistr nods, frowning at the bilgesnipe's bloodied nose. "I suppose Thor did that to you, didn't he?"

Brøl makes an affirming grumble deep in its throat.

The edge of Byleistr's red gaze edges in anger, before he sighs. "At least he returned you in one piece. Now don't go wandering off into other realms again—he won't likely be so lenient a second time."

After Byleistr fixes Brøl's nose, the bilgesnipe bounds off happily, with a spring in its roaring step, ice-gray tail occilating behind it.

* * *

"You called for me, Heimdall?" Thor states, entering the Observatory with an expression of mild befuddlement. "I thought that Jane only called for me in the evenings. And you know I can't leave Asgard yet—"

"It's not that," the gatekeeper interrupts, amber eyes catching the morning sunlight that falls across his dark skin. "There is a bilgesnipe in Asgard."

Thor's eyebrows furrow as he frowns. "But how—"

"I believe it is the same bilgesnipe you extracted from Midgard a few months previous," Heimdall says. "It is quite possible that it has grown sensitive to the portals between realms, and has found a magical pathway into Asgard."

"Where is it?" Thor demands, already beginning to swing Mjolnir in a silver blur, muscular legs tensing as he prepares to spring into the air.

"One one of the islands in the ocean, foundering on the bank since it doesn't seem to know how to swim," is Heimdall's answer as the thunder god shoots away with the whirring hum of metal and air. "Don't kill it!" Heimdall calls after him, hoping that Thor hears him. The King of Jotunheim will not be happy if the God of Thunder murders his pet...

* * *

It doesn't take long for Thor to spot the creature; it's pathetically skittering at the bank of a jaggedly mountainous little island, striding forward only to scurry back when the waves lapped at its feet.

All resolve Thor had gathered to kill the creature faltered, and sighing, he sets down lightly, saying, "Come at me, beast."

Spotting him, the bilgesnipe charges, roaring, sword-length incisors flashing.

"If only Loki were here," Thor mutters to himself as he grabs the creature by its antlers and takes off towards the bifrost.

* * *

In the throne room, Odin pauses in his conversation with Tyr, eye growing distant as he seems to look through the golden wall.

* * *

As Thor deposits the bilgesnipe in the observatory and Heimdall sends it zooming back to Jotunheim, there is a voice in the thunderer's head.

_You called for me, Brother?_

Thor grins, an elation Heimdall mistakes for the joy of getting to bash in the bilgesnipe's face again. But then, not even the all-seeing, all-hearing gatekeeper could possibly guess that only a week ago Thor had discovered that his little brother was indeed alive, hiding in disguise as Odin.

Sometimes Thor supposes he should be more angry at Loki for the months of deception, for letting Thor believe him dead and for setting the deceased Odin out on his burning boat among the many others after the battle with the last of the dark elves that had attacked Asgard directly following Malekith's defeat, and nobody knew.

At least Loki hadn't killed Odin... probably. At least he said he hadn't, and Thor wants to be able to trust him on that.

_I did, _Thor says in his mind, knowing Loki will hear—he always hears his name, and any thoughts directed at him. _A bilgesnipe entered Asgard via a magical pathway, and I do not want to deal with the creature again. _

The sound of Loki's voice is a purr. _Meaning? _

_Meaning I need you to find the path and close it, _Thor answers, his thoughts nearly an exasperated growl at Loki's self-satisfied tone.

_Very well, it shall be dealt with. _

Heaving a sigh of relief, Thor turns to leave, only to notice Heimdall scrutinizing him.

"Yes?" Thor ventures, raising his brows.

"Are you alright?" Heimdall inquires with narrowed eyes. "You've appeared to have been having regular mental arguments with yourself."

"Oh," Thor says, letting his gaze fall to his feet, shuffling awkwardly. "It's just..."

_You're conflicted, _a silky voice offers in his head. _With your loyalty to Asgard and your love for Midgard and your Jane Foster. _

"I'm conflicted," Thor admits, though he still doesn't look at the gatekeeper. "I do not wish to leave Asgard before I'm sure everything is settled, but I miss... _her." _

When he glances up, Heimdall's gaze has softened, and he nods in understanding. "You stretch yourself thin between your ties to two realms," the guardian intones.

Thor's closed lips quirk, and he pats Heimdall on the arm in tacit thanks for the understanding, before picking up his hammer and flying back to the castle.

_I'm impressed. Keep it up, and you might make a decent lier one day. _

_Shut it, Loki, _Thor growls in response.

* * *

"Sire?" Tyr questions, concern written in his features as Odin seemed not to hear him for a few moments, gaze distant.

"Hm?" Odin says, his one pale blue eye once more focusing on the God of War.

"You did the spacing-out thing again," Tyr answers, shifting his weight. "Are you sure you're feeling alright? It's been a while since your last Odinsleep, and what with everything that's happened..."

"I'll be fine," Odin says, waving a hand dismissively. "I cannot just desert Asgard when she isn't as strong as she yet can be, and we are still on the border of such tumultuous times. I cannot give in to personal sorrows."

"Nobody would judge you for it," Tyr points out reasonably.

There is a slight edge to Odin's voice as he insists, "Enough of this talk. Now, continue what you were saying about the development of the treaty with Vanaheim. I don't have all the time in the worlds, you know."

* * *

On Jotunheim, Byleistr snarls in frustration as Brøl is once again deposited down in the center of the throne room by the bifrost. White feathers drift from the bilgesnipe's mouth.

"What's gotten into you?" he demands of the bilgesnipe. "This is completely unacceptable behavior. Our truce with Asgard is tenuous, but necessary, and I would not have you ruin it for the sake of a snack of birds!"

The bilgesnipe just looks at him with small, guilty eyes.

Byleistr's glare intensifies. "That's it," he says decisively, "I'm going to have to put a leash and collar on you."

* * *

There's a knock on Odin's door—loud, but relatively polite.

"Come in, Thor."

The thunderer opens the door cautiously, closing it behind him with a small _click. _

He'd been visiting his brother regularly at the end of every day, but still when he turns around there is an inexplicable shock of fear through his chest that it won't actually be Loki, that his brother isn't really alive.

But he is—the Odin guise would melt away, and there would be those two brilliantly green eyes, that smug smirk, those pale, sharp features, that dark, too-long hair—Loki is always there.

"Did you close the pathway?" Thor inquires, as he takes a seat on one of the gold chairs with their velvety red cushions, where it's positioned near the entryway to the balcony, right where the sunlight shines every morning.

"Verily," Loki nods. He remains standing, leaning back against the railing of the balcony, head tilted back as he lets the warm breeze finger through his black tresses. "The bilgesnipe won't enter Asgard again."

"Good," Thor says in response, coming over besides his brother, letting his gaze sweep over the gloaming-lit city, the galaxies and stars that spatter the black sky with color.

They stand there in silence for a few moments, letting the presence of each other's company soothe across their skin as they feel the soft silence of each other breathing.

"Whenever are you going to visit your mortal _love?" _Loki says finally, drawling out the word 'love' in a mocking, teasing manner, only a hint of snideness.

Thor glowers at his little brother.

"It's just," Loki says, comically tender as he turns to face the city with Thor, draping a leather-clad arm over the thunderer's shoulders as he continued, "You've been so _morose _lately—although not as depressed as you were before you found out I was alive, because of course I'm just that important—but you've been gazing out at the _stars _all that time—which I'm guessing is not because you suddenly have an interest in astronomy—with this ridiculous expression on your face, like somebody just hit you with a frying pan, and yet you've been moping around the castle even though it's been almost another year since you've seen Jane, and Asgard is almost completely patched up—thanks to me—and you've never even _laid _with Jane—"

"_Brother!"_ Thor growls, pushing the dark god harshly away from him and stalking to the other side of the balcony.

But Loki will have none of that.

"I'm sure she's furious enough to slap you a few more times," Loki says brightly, capering over to his brother and nudging him in the shoulder. "You did promise you'd return for her, and the last time was only for a few minutes at most, not to mention—"

"What is your _point?" _Thor snarls, catching Loki in the chest with his arm and shoving the slender god against the balcony railing, stone pressing against Loki's spine.

But the God of Mischief just smirks. "I'm just trying to get you to do what your heart tells you," he says angelically.

_I'm not buying it, _says Thor's stern expression.

Loki's grin widens. "Aaaaaand I could use a vacation," he chirps finally, ducking under Thor's arm and frisking out of hitting distance. "People seem to think Odin needs a bout of Odinsleep after everything that's happened, and Asgard is stable enough for Tyr to take over for a few days without starting a war, and so while Odin 'sleeps' I could hypothetically actually visit Midgard... what were those Midgardian delicacies you've been raving about again?"

"Poptarts?" Thor offers, brow furrowed.

"Yes, that's it!" Loki nods blithely. "What do you say? You get to see Jane again, I get a rest from the stress of being King..." he raises a dark eyebrow expectantly, thin lips quirking.

"Heimdall—" starts Thor in indignant befuddlement, the thought only seeming now to occur to him.

"Oh pshh," Loki says, waving his brother into silence with a pale, long-fingered hand. "If he knew, he would have sounded the alarm horn and run me through already. For all of our conversations I create an illusion of what Odin and Thor are actually talking about—so please don't hit me or anything; it takes quite a bit of concentration to hold up two different conversations at once, for your information."

"Loki—"

"Oh Thor," the trickster shakes his head sadly. "You claim to love this mortal, but you are wasting her brief lifespan being a coward."

Thor's blue eyes flash angrily. "I am not a cow—"

"MOO!"

"LOKI!" Thor rumbles.

Cackling, Loki slipped back into the dim chamber, casting a smug glance at his brother.

When Thor comes after him, he's met with a pillow to the face.

"I thought you didn't like pillow fights," Thor mutters in annoyance, after the pillow falls the floor and he kicks it out of the way and under a chair.

"I don't."

"Then why—"

"What are you hiding from?"

"I hide from nothing!" Thor yells, clenching his fists at his side as his gaze darts around, trying to pinpoint Loki's location.

"And yet, the mighty, _fearless _God of Thunder is too nervous to visit his mortal girlfriend, even as her life ticks away..." The disembodied voice, sibilant as wind, seems to come from all around Thor, and he turns in a circle, eyes scanning fruitlessly, fists clenched and muscles tense.

"Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok."

"Loki, stop this mischief this instant!" Thor orders, and his knuckles are white.

"That sounds like fear. Am I scaring you?"

Cool breath against Thor's ear, and he whirls around, unsurprised to find that there's nothing there.

No Loki.

Loki was right though, wasn't he? (Loki was almost always right.)

Thor was afraid—at first, he'd been afraid to leave Asgard with the realm in such fragile condition after the attack, and that something would happen while he was on Midgard, and after losing his Mother and Brother he wouldn't be able to stand losing anybody _else—_and then later, after he discovered Loki was still alive... what was he afraid of? Perhaps he still doesn't trust Loki, doesn't trust Loki to rule Asgard without causing mayhem, despite having done naught but good for all those months... and perhaps that is what is making Thor suspicious.

"Tik. Tok. Where am I? Do you even know where you are?"

"I've had enough of your _games _and _riddles, _Loki," Thor grunts, as he crosses his arms and sits down in the middle of the floor like an upset child.

And so of course that's when Loki reappears behind him, a glinting silver blade suddenly at Thor's neck, nicking against his skin.

"Oh, but don't you see _Brother?" _Loki whispers as he kneels behind Thor, resting his chin on the top of the thunderer's head. "Everything is a game. And the only reason you're still alive is for my entertainment."

When Thor shakes his head slightly, the blade digs deeper and he feels the warm drop of blood that trickles down his neck. "I don't understand you, Brother."

"Good," Loki breathes before he removes the dagger from beneath Thor's chin and pulls away, sweeping across the room and back over to the window as two black silhouettes circle in front of the moons that hang like fruit in the night sky, spiraling lower.

Thor watches as Huginn and Muninn land on Loki's shoulders. The dark god strokes their inky feathers, black with their oily rainbows, listening to their rough utterances. After whispering quietly to them Loki kisses them lightly on their feathered heads, before they open their wings and take off back into the night, the wind from their wingbeats ruffling Loki's too-long hair.

The thunder god can only blink in bafflement.

He stands, saying, "My liege, I request permission to visit Lade Jane on the morrow, and to stay on Midgard for a period of time."

When the King of Asgard turns back to face him, it's one blue eye that meets his gaze.

A heavy, exasperated sigh, before Odin relents, "If Midgard is where your heart is, Son, than that is where you should be."

Sometimes Thor wants to just punch the living daylights out of his little brother.

* * *

The next day, with 'Odin' finally succumbing to the Odinsleep that all of Asgard has known he needs, Thor left Tyr in charge (he blatantly refused the offers to be Asgard's regent) and traveled down to Midgard via the rainbow bridge.

"Oh, this is so much fun!" Loki says gleefully from where he's riding the London Underground beside Thor, who is strangely oblivious to the stares that the young human females are giving him.

Nobody spares Loki even a first glance where he stands in what appears to be the only unoccupied spot in the entire car, and nobody's quite sure why, but that doesn't matter because nobody even thinks about it.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Thor says, as the car jerks and the woman standing next to him is tossed against his muscular chest, muttering a not very apologetic-sounding "Sorry."

Loki snickers. "Now that's—"

The compartment jerks again, and Loki, not anticipating the movement, is sent crashing into  
Thor's muscular chest.

Because Thor of course is humble enough to actually hold on to the metal bars provided for balance.

He raises an eyebrow at Loki, like _What were you saying? _

Turning himself into a gorgeous young woman with flowing black hair, Loki giggles, pushing herself off Thor and putting a delicate hand over her lips, large emerald eyes wide as she stutters, "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"_Loki,"_ Thor rumbles warningly, as the subway jerks yet again and Loki this time allows himself to be tossed against the thunder god.

"What? Not to your tastes?" Loki inquires, turning into Sif and letting her large dark eyes linger on Thor's handsome face.

"You know I love you," she says.

"Loki stop it. I'm serious."

"You tell me not to lie, and then you reprimand me for telling the truth? How typically hypocritical of you."

"_Loki." _

"_What?!" _

"This is our stop," Thor says, as the doors open in front of them and Thor pushes his little brother out of the compartment, causing the mischief god to stumble slightly as he staggers back into his true form. (Or at least, what they both consider to be Loki's true form—Jotun form apparently doesn't count.)

"Well," Loki says, regarding Thor's casual Midgardian wear, having forsaken his Asgardian armor for a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt. (The t-shirt had been red, but Loki changed the color. Because he could. Thor had just shrugged.) "How are we going to get to your Lady's house without your hammer? Which I can't believe you actually left in Asgard by the way, seeing as that it took you dressing up in a wedding dress to retrieve it last time."

"We shall hail a taxi," Thor states as they walk out onto the crowded streets of London, weaving through the crowd and pointedly ignoring Loki's allusion to that embarrassing incident.

There's the scent of car exhaust and wet pavement, the rain clouds still lingering somberly in the sky as if they couldn't make up their minds whether they were going to wring out more water or not.

"I could conjure a car," Loki suggests, stretching out his arms in front of him and cracking his fingers, sending his brother an impish grin. "And I could drive. How hard could it possibly be?"

"_Loki—"_ Thor says, for probably the hundredth time.

"I do so love hearing my name," Loki smiles, somewhere between genuine and mocking. "All I get is 'Odin' now, and such a ornery name does grate on a person after a while. But _Loki, _now _that _is an elegant name; and it sounds so charming coming from your lips. Do say it again—I shan't tire of it."

While Thor furrows his brow and tries to puzzle the meaning of that out, Loki waves a hand, and a slick black sports car materializes before him, Loki slipping into the driver's seat on the right.

He waits, expectant.

After a moment Thor sighs, opening the door and slipping into the shotgun seat as Loki pulls out from the curb and floors the engine, jamming the breaks just before crashing into the car in front of them at a stoplight.  
"Loki!" Thor cries, gripping the seat edge with white knuckles, the material crunching beneath his godly grip. "You're going to crash!"

"I don't care, I'm immortal!"

"But humans aren't! If you kill anyone, I will—"

"Kill me?" Loki asks, lips quirking, never taking his eyes off the road. He makes a sharp left turn, tires screeching. "That threat is getting old, you know."

Thor is silent for a few minutes as Loki drives, eliciting quite a few honks from the Midgardians for his rash and dangerous driving skills, though he doesn't so much as knock over one of those signs that humans have ringing their roads, with such trifle information as 'speed limits', which is frankly one of the things Loki doesn't currently understand.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Thor questions finally, as Loki takes turn after authoritative turn.

"Yes," Loki answers.

"How?"

"By intercepting GPS signals. The humans have got these satellites that orbit Midgard, and they send information via radio waves to these human gadgets, and they are able to tell one exactly where they are positioned on the planet, and the position of any destination," Loki explains, turning up the volume on the cars radio and nodding his head to the music, which for the fifteen minutes they've been driving never have they heard a single commercial.

When dealing with Loki, nothing is a coincidence.

"I didn't know you could do that," Thor says, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

The God of Mischief just chuckles darkly. "You have no idea what I am," he murmurs, too quiet for Thor to make out above the honking of traffic and the dull thunder of tires on pavement. "Nobody does."

Another sharp turn, and Loki pulls up next to a house, singing, "Ta da!"

Thor nearly throws the door right of the car's hinges as he rushes towards Jane's house, and Loki leans back with a small smirk as he turns off the engine.

* * *

"Lady Jane," Thor says, as the woman opens the door, brown eyes widening.

"_You!"_ she exclaims, slapping him. "Where were you?! You said you would return! You _promised!" _

"And I have returned," Thor points out, confusion written on his handsome features (there really was no other word to describe him, Jane thought; he was just so stunningly _handsome.) _

"After almost a _year!" _Jane snaps, slapping him again. Though after seeing him being pummeled by the fists of that huge Dark Elf monster with its crackling and burning flesh, she doubts a slap from her could hurt him at all.

Oh well. At least it makes her feel better.

"You have my sincerest apologies," Thor says, taking her hands and completely dwarfing them in his, as he lifts his bright sky-blue eyes to her walnut-colored orbs.

Jane huffs. "And what's your excuse _this time, _hm? Fixing up Asgard, I suppose?"

"Yes," Thor says. But before Jane can say anything else he silences her with a kiss, and everything else forgotten she wraps her arms around his neck as he pulls her closer to him as they kiss deeply, tasting each other.

Thor's hands slip up beneath her shirt.

"Oh _eww," _a voice says, low and smooth with a hint of a growl. "If _that's _the way things are going to be, please, move out of the doorway and into the bedroom."

The couple break apart, Jane's mouth dropping open, flabbergasted. "You!" she accuses.

"Me," Loki grins, from where he leans against the door frame.

Jane strides towards him, and he holds up a hand, saying, "I saved Thor's life."

The mortal slaps him anyway. "_That's _for breaking Thor's heart," she retorts, before flouncing back inside and taking Thor's hand, pulling him along into the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Loki chuckles to himself as he pulls the door shut and invites himself inside.

Of course _Thor _gets sympathy for his broken heart. Of course people care about _Thor's _feelings.

(After all, Loki doesn't have any, now does he?)

* * *

"And he's back!" Darcy cries from where she's sitting at the table with Ian, the both of them with their bowls of cereal as Thor and Jane enter the room. "See," she continues, pointing her spoon at Jane, "I _told _you he'd return!"

Loki enters the room behind him, and Darcy drops her spoon in shock. "Wow," she says finally. "The footage on the news during the New York incident did nothing to capture how hot of a brother you've got there, Thor."

Ian clears his throat pointedly, and Darcy pats his hand, saying, "Hey it's okay, it's not like I'm going to leave you for a supervillain."

"You're going to have to get used to Darcy commenting on the attractiveness of other guys," Jane adds with a laugh, still holding Thor's hand. "She can't help it."

"Guilty as charged," Darcy shrugs, simpering, before she purses her lips. "Hey though, didn't you say Loki was dead?"

"Yes," Jane says, at the same time Thor rumbles, "He was."

"Riiiiight," Darcy drawls out. "So why is he standing there then?"

Loki's smirk is convoluted, marring his face with bitter derision. "Maybe I'm not actually standing here," he suggests. "You're certainly all talking about me as if I'm not."

"Welcome to the club," Ian says as he pours himself a glass of orange juice, bringing the orange liquid to his lips. "They do that to me all the time." Making his voice all high and girly to try to mimic Darcy, he says, "'The intern says it's this way.'"

"Hey!" Darcy protests, taking a piece of cereal from her bowl and flicking it at him as he laughs. "I so do not sound like that!"

"No," Ian admits, "Now you sound more like: 'Boyfriend is going to come with me to a cafe and buy me some coffee, because I'm about to keel over from all this scientific... stuff." he waggles his fingers in tease of Darcy's gesturing, and she whacks his hands, sticking her tongue out at him.

Thor and Jane go off somewhere—Jane mentions something about going out to a restaurant to get lunch—and Loki is left with these two curious mortals sitting at the kitchen table and exchanging raillery.

He sits down in an empty chair, somewhat hesitantly. "What is that?" he asks, pointing to the carton of orange juice.  
"Orange juice," Darcy says immediately. "Can't you read?"

Loki glowers at her. "In several hundred languages," he snaps. "But I do not understand how one can extract juice from a color."

"Oh," Darcy laughs, getting up and walking into the kitchen where she grabs an orange, tossing it to the god, who catches it and inspects at it curiously, turning it over in his hands, then bring it up to his finely-carved nose and sniffing it delicately. "An orange is also a kind of fruit," she explains. "You should try it! It's very good."

"You just bite it?" Loki asks, unsure of the strange texture as he continues turning the orange over in his hands.

"No, you peel it silly!" Darcy laughs, taking the orange from the god and digging her fingernail into the skin, beginning to peel it in a spiral. "And then you eat it like this," she demonstrates once she's finished, breaking apart the sphere of orange into little crescents, the shape of a child's doodled moon, and pops a slice into her mouth.

She drops a slice into Loki's hand, and he puts it on his tongue hesitantly, eyes widening when his teeth sinks past the tender skin and the sweet and sour citrus juice spreads through his mouth.

Grinning at his expression of surprise Darcy says, "Good huh? Here, you can have the rest," and with that she hands him the rest of the orange, which he eats slowly, once slice at a time as he savors the tart orange flavor.

"You hungry?" Ian offers, sliding the box of cereal and the jug of milk across the table towards the god. "We've got cereal and orange juice and..." he glances around the kitchen, remembering that the refrigerator and cabinets were mostly empty. "And that's about it," he admits with an awkward grin.

None of them were that into buying groceries—and considering that Jane was the one who actually had money, what with neither her intern nor her intern's intern getting paid, and the scientist hadn't been taking the best care of herself. In fact, generally it was Erik who brought over groceries when he visited.

At least they currently had more than donuts though.

Loki meanwhile frowned at the jug of milk. "Milk is for babes," he said in bewilderment, nose crinkling.

"This is cow's milk," Darcy explained. "Everyone drinks it. Even Thor."

"No thanks," Loki snorts, as he gets up to the dish cabinet and pulls out a bowl, fishing around in the drawers for a spoon before returning to the table and pouring himself some cereal. "Thor is a sumph. Though I accept your offer of breakfast. It is most kind."

"You just gonna eat it dry then?" Darcy asks, raising her eyebrows at the god like his actions are ridiculous.

"No," Loki says lightly, as he takes the carton of orange juice and pours the beverage into his cereal.

"Oh yuck!" Darcy says, clenching her eyes shut and shaking her head, dark hair splattering airily across her face. "Cereal and orange juice?!"

"You can't know it's disgusting if you've never tried it," Ian points out reasonably. He turns to watch the Loki as the god eats the cereal daintily, an expression of curiosity drifting across the mortal's features. "How is it?" he inquires, having never tried cereal and orange juice himself.

"For your Midgardian cuisine?" Loki says after swallowing, pausing a moment in thought, spoon poised completely still above the bowl. "It is passable."

"Which means you like it," Ian guessed, to Loki's smirk.

"Thor has spoken much about your Midgardian delicacies," Loki conversed casually. "Especially what I believe are known as 'hot chocolate' and 'poptarts'."

At that Darcy can't help but giggle, remembering the thunder god back in New Mexico that first day, how he'd polished off an entire box of poptarts, then at the cafe an entire stack of pancakes, and how he'd smashed his hot chocolate mug on the floor once he'd finished (they hadn't risked giving him coffee—he was awake enough besides).

"Ah yes," she smiles knowingly. "He was quite fond of poptarts and hot chocolate. You know, Jane and Thor are off getting lunch, we should all go to a cafe as well!"

"We don't have any money," Ian points out, pointing at her with his spoon.

"Oh I'm sure Jane has some cash lying around somewhere," Darcy says assuredly, getting up from the table and beginning to wander around the house, picking up random objects and looking under them.

No money under the coffee pot.

No money under the pile of magazines on the couch.

No money under the rug.

No money in the cracks of the couch.

No money under the random scientific equipment.

"Check Jane's shoes by the front door," Ian suggests, as he takes his and Loki's cereal bowls up the sink once they'd both finished.

"Aha!" Darcy exclaims, fishing some cash out of Jane's red rain boots. "We have three pounds!"

"Enough for one small hot chocolate," Ian remarks dryly.

Pursing her lips, Darcy sticks the money in her jacket pocket, before sighing. "Yeah, that's true... oh I know!" she exclaims, brightening. "We can call up Erik and tell him that Thor's returned and we need poptarts!"

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Ian mutters, gaze flicking towards where the mischief god is walking around and poking at various pieces of scientific equipment, green eyes alight with curiosity.

"Ah, Erik Selvig," Loki says smoothly, as he continues to peruse the room. "He's the one that celebrated my death, was he not? How disappointing he still holds a grudge over that mind control incident. I do look forward to seeing him again."

"Um," Darcy utters uncertainly. She and Ian exchange glances.

Looking up from the scientific stakes that had helped create that physics anomaly where they opened the thin fabric between realms during Thor's battle with Malekith, the dark god grins toothily at them. "I haven't yet had the opportunity to apologize," he says, voice brimming with velveteen sincerity.

"Well," Darcy says after a moment, taking her iPhone from her pocket and beginning to call up Erik. "'Face your fears'—that's what Thor says, right?"

Loki nods innocently. "'Face your fears, and remember to carry a hammer,'" he affirms.

"Right," Darcy mutters as the phone continues to ring. Louder, she calls, "Boyfriend, go find me a hammer!"

* * *

Fortunately, Thor and Jane return from the restaurant just before Erik Selvig arrives with the poptarts and no pants (perhaps that was part of what Erik had hated about being under Loki's control—having to wear pants all the time).

So fortunately Thor is there to help mollify Erik's shock when he sees the God of Mischief sitting there casually at the table, a Rubik's cube nearly a blur in his hands as his long fingers twist the pieces this way and that.

"You!" Erik gasps, staggering backwards.

"There," Loki says, setting the solved cube on the table.

"Six seconds," Darcy whistles in appreciation, looking at the timer. "Zero point fifty-four seconds ahead of the champion average, though still zero point 5 seconds behind the record time. You're going to have to do better next time, genius."

Hissing through his teeth, Loki reaches for the cube again, handing it to the mortal to mix up, a determined gleam in his eyes.

He could and would beat the world record.

And nobody really needed to know except for him, for his own pride. Even if it's just some stupid mortal thing and he's a god and so it doesn't really apply to him in the slightest.

"_YOU!" _Erik says again, appearing like he's about to have a heart attack.

"You can say my name, you know," Loki offers casually, finally turning his glance to the old man, a smirk on his lips.

"You supposed to be dead!" Erik shouts.

"Calm yourself, my friend," Thor intervenes, taking the physicist by the shoulders. "Yes Loki is alive, but I swear to you, he will cause you nor Midgard no further harm."

"How can you—" Erik stuttered, backing away, hands groping behind him for something to defend himself with.

All he grabs is purple pillow from the couch, which he immediately hurls over Thor's shoulder at the mischief god, missing by a good ten feet.

"Five point zero three seconds!" Darcy hoots. "Congratulations, you've beaten the world record by a milestone!"

She raised her hand, palm facing Loki, and he crinkles his dark eyebrows in confusion.

"Come on, give me a high-five," she insists. "You know what those are don't you?"

Loki gives her a hesitant high-five.

Meanwhile, Thor is still trying to soothe the panicking Eric. "My Brother did die," Thor says. "He died saving my life—and Jane's, more than once even. But he returned and has done naught but good since."

"He tried nearly destroyed New York!" Erik protests, sending scathing glares around the thunderer at his younger brother, whom Darcy had gotten to start reciting digits of pi, after Loki had sighed in exasperation but finally relented in an extremely bored tone.

Glancing behind him, Thor groans. "You realize that he's never going to stop," he says to Darcy of Loki.

"But this is awesome!" Darcy protests, grinning. "Your brother is genius! He's breaking all these records—"

"It doesn't actually count," Loki breaks of his reciting of pi to point out, "Seeing as that I'm far from human. Thor could break all your records of strength to a mind-blowing degree."

"True," Ian agrees, though he looks no less intrigued by Loki than his girlfriend. "Hey, could you do some magic for us?" he asks hopefully.

"Ooh yes, please!" Darcy squeals, hands together as she bounces slightly.

Even Jane wanders over to them, interest painted plainly on her features.

Thor turns to see what Loki will do, teeth worrying at his lip, and even Erik stops looking for a weapon or trying to escape or even protesting.

Green eyes flicking across their faces in something like shock, slowly a small, genuine smile slips across his lips, before the trickster god stands, practically towering over the mortals.

He's so, so tall. Nearly as tall as Thor, though significantly slimmer, all lean muscle and bone rather than thunder-hewed brawn.

Waving his fingers in front of him, he paints for them pictures, illusions, ballads—he describes for them in his low voice what Thor recognizes as one of Mother's tales, the one about the Dark Elves, and Thor realizes that probably the mortals hardly understand what truly had happened nearly a year ago, in the Nine Realms and in Greenwich.

And as always, everyone observes in awe; Loki's illusions are bright and active, miniature versions of the battles playing out in front of them, appearing not real but stylized in Loki's own hand, so that they actually seem to be from a story book of legend rather than from history.

Dark Elves with their emotionless masks, Kursed coruscating red sparks over their dark skin, everything with an edge of gold.

The voice of his brother talks on, recounting details their mother had told them that Thor had forgotten.

Loki even includes Frigga's inside joke about Bor's ram horns that curled down so low beside his face that he couldn't be decapitated because an enemy's blade, when aimed at his neck, would simply connect with the metal horns of his helmet.

And Loki sends him an amused glance, and Thor can't help but chuckle in embarrassment at having decapitated Bor's statue.

_Should have let me drive, _Loki smirks.

The dark god is just getting to the end of the story, the little figure of Malekith starting to unleash the curling red and black Aether when he freezes, green gaze distant as the illusion flickers and fails in front of him.

"Loki?" Thor says uncertainly, reaching a hand out towards his brother.

"Duty calls," says Loki briskly as he steps away from Thor's touch. He inclines his head in apology to the mortals, before turning to his brother and uttering, "I'll see you in Asgard. Take your time—it's nothing serious."

And then Loki's gone in a shimmer of gold and green.

But he reappears almost immediately, before Thor can so much as frown.

"Oh wait," Loki says, reaching for the box of poptarts Erik brought over and pulling one out, waving it with a smirk. "I haven't tried one of these yet."

And with that he disappears again.

* * *

**There should be one more chapter after this ;) **

**If you have any comments, I'd love to hear them ^.^**


	3. Insinuation

**Okay, so it turns out, this probably will NOT be the last chapter, as I wrote it but I still have more ideas I want to explore! Arrrgh! This story is distracting me from my other chapter fics that I need to update...  
**

**This chapter is a bit more serious than the last one, with less humor. ****But I hope you enjoy nonetheless! **

* * *

Loki saunters out from between Yggdrasil's branches licking the crumbs off his fingers, stars flurrying behind him as the pathway closes in on itself like a blackhole, winking out of existence.

The poptart was alright, Loki thinks—sugary, sort of cake-like, raspberry flavored—but nothing to go crazy over. Though he can see why Thor likes them. Thor has quite the sweet tooth.

But back to the task at hand.

Musphelheim is oppressively warm, though the river of lava that winds through the black and sooty landscape is mesmerizing in its shifting hues of glowing crimson and luminous orange, its banks flanked with crackling walls of flames that dance and skirt the edge like living creatures.

Not the place for Frost Giants, Loki thinks wryly, as his gaze settles on the bilegsnipe that's lumbering over the scorched ground only a couple meters away, an irate and sweating Byleistr riding on its back with his large blue hands holding a bulky chain that's connected to an icy collar around the beast's neck.

"_Get us out of here,"_ Byleistr keeps saying, voice filled with a combination of anger and apprehension.

"Stupid creature," Loki mutters to himself, shaking his head. "You weren't supposed to end up in _Musphelheim—_not _yet_."

Frost Giants and Fire Giants don't get along. At all.

And war breaking out between them over such an intrusion is hardly acceptable—the realms aren't ready for another large and chaotic catastrophe so soon after the Convergence.

Not yet.

Loki snaps his fingers, just loudly enough to get the beast's attention, and when it turns on instinct to charge him, Loki grins, letting the bilgesnipe knock him into one of the pathways that spans across the Void.

Too late Loki hears Thor say his name, and Loki curses his brother in a language that makes the soul-sucking darkness churn around him like liquid smoke, itching towards his eyes.

* * *

"Wait, so why...?" Darcy says after several stunned moments of silence, gesturing at the empty space where Loki has just disappeared.

"Yeah, what's up with him?" Jane demands, turning on Thor with narrowed eyes. "You refused to talk about your brother during our lunch, but you promised me answers!"

Frowning slightly as he tries to think of how to explain, Thor sighs. "Kingly duties, probably. It's... complicated," he ventures. "You see, after I got back to Asgard... well, for months I mourned Loki's death. But Asgard was healing, and Odin was different. He was making reforms, changing protocols that had remained fixed for thousands of years. I suppose I should have known," he adds, "That Odin was actually Loki in disguise—"

Thor is abruptly cut off by a voice in his head.

_You absolute dolt! _Loki's voice snarles. _I leave for one moment and let the illusion down, and you have to SAY EVERYTHING FOR HEIMDALL TO HEAR?_

Thor winces. _I'm sorry, I didn't know... _

_I was going to send the stupid bilgesnipe and Byleistr into Svartalfeim, maybe even Jotunheim where it belongs if I was feeling especially generous, but perhaps _you _should deal with it, _Loki says with an evident sneer, irritated and bitter.

_Loki don't_— Thor thinks warningly, his distress no doubt showing on his face, as the mortals are giving him concerned looks.

"You okay buddy?" Darcy asks.

There's a monstrous roar outside, and Thor groans loudly. _I don't have my hammer, _he realizes.

Loki, unsurprisingly, is unsympathetic. _And whose fault is that? _The mischief god snaps. _Which, by the way, if you return to find Asgard in the midst of a civil war, that's also your fault. _

"That wasn't what I think it was, was it?" Darcy says, not very optimistically, as the bilgesnipe's roar sounds again.

"I'm afraid it was," Thor says soberly. "My wholehearted apologies."

And with that, the thunderer rushes outside.

* * *

Heimdall is not an idiot.

He noticed that Odin had started acting differently, though at first he thought it was just a grief-driven need to make sure no such attack would ever succeed again.

It wasn't until a few months later, when Heimdall started noticing that sometimes Odin and Thor would exchange words that would leave both laughing—Odin and Thor _laughing together, _that Heimdall started to get suspicious.

And then he began to notice that the ranks of Asgards enemies would be thrown into chaos by some unseen cause, how fights would break out among them, and it was all too easy for the Asgardian forces to defeat them.

And that was when he really began to observe Odin, and began to notice minute details—Odin carried himself more pertly than he used to, held and swung his scepter with smoother, more graceful strokes, lounged on the throne instead of sitting rigidly.

And sometimes scenes would flicker, so briefly if Heimdall had blinked he would have missed it, and he could never be sure if it had actually happened.

And so Thor's words had only confirmed Heimdall's suspicions—that Odin was actually Loki in disguise, and had been so for a while.

"How long?" Heimdall demands, as Loki appears in front of him in the Observatory.

The dark god just smirks infuriatingly, hands behind his back as he walks around the circular controls, keeping both his green eyes intent on the gatekeeper. "I could ask you the same thing," Loki says easily. "You certainly aren't surprised."

"I've had my suspicions," Heimdall admits, never taking his gold gaze from Loki's angular face.

"And yet you've never thought to sound the alarm or call me out," Loki states, and it's impossible to tell what he's thinking, whether he's surprised or pleased.

"I do not like you, nor do I trust you," Heimdall says, and Loki is indeed pleased to see that in Heimdall's amber eyes and dark face there is only grudging respect (and maybe even the smallest trace of fear), as the gatekeeper continues, "But I know when to keep quiet for the good of Asgard. You have done naught but good for this realm thus far, and as long as you do not threaten the kingdom or its peace, I have no reason to object."

Loki's lips quirk higher on the left. "And as long as I don't try to banish Thor and keep him such," he says, the mockery clear in his tone.

But of course, Heimdall doesn't answer, just keeps watching the trickster with those galaxy-gold eyes.

After a moment where they just stare at each other like wary cats, Loki is the one to break the silence, his tense posture relaxing slightly as he lets his gaze slide off towards the space and its colorful clouds and thousands upon thousands of stars that decorate the darkness between the Nine Realms.

"I offered Thor the throne, you know," Loki says casually. "More than once. He refused each time."

"I know."

"Who does he think he _is?"_ Loki continues, a note of bitterness seeping into his tone, and Heimdall can't help the confused twitch of his eyebrows that Loki is, inexplicably, confiding in him. "Thor was always the Heir to the Throne. He was _born and raised _to be King of Asgard," Loki snorts. "And yet he thinks he can escape that destiny, which has been laid out before him for thousand of years, that destiny he sought after for so long. And he thinks he can just forsake Asgard and be with a mortal? They have no more than a few decades of future together."

"The throne isn't quite as gratifying as you thought it would be, is it," Heimdall says, more a statement than a question, sounding almost smug.

Loki shakes his head, smile thin, as he turns his green eyes back to the gatekeeper. _Go on, ask, _his knowing gaze prods.

And so Heimdall does. "What did you do with Odin?" he not so much as asks but demands.

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you mean," Loki snorts, shifting his gaze down to the control panel that Heimdall's sword is placed in, the gatekeeper's chocolate-brown hands resting on its gold hilt. "Which I think is obvious by the fact that Thor didn't bash my head in. Although," he adds thoughtfully, "He's always been a forgiving sort. But no, Heimdall—Odin slipped into the Odinsleep so deeply he eventually drowned there; died in his sleep, easy and peaceful. I gave him a warrior's funeral," Loki shrugged. "Though who knows if he'll end up in Valhalla, dying like that."

There's silence as Loki pauses and Heimdall does not deign to speak.

"If I ask you a question, I expect you to answer me honestly," Loki demands suddenly, turning his gaze from space once more to scrutinize the gatekeeper's expression. "As your king."

"I am no liar," Heimdall intones.

Loki waits.

A pause. "My king," Heimdall adds reluctantly.

Loki smiles. Tilting his head slightly to the side, he inquires, "Do you think Thor would make a good king?"

Heimdall blinks, the question unexpected. Amber eyes look to Midgard, where Thor is standing before an infuriated bilgesnipe and its Jotun rider, trying to talk things out, though Thor nevertheless had gotten hold of an iron anvil in replace of Mjolnir.

"Oh wow: hesitation," Loki goads. "How unexpected."

Resisting the urge to scowl at the mischief god, Heimdall just says, "Thor has grown wiser," as Thor doesn't use the anvil to bash in the head of the bilgesnipe or the Frost Giant like he would have a few years previous, and instead calls up for Heimdall to take them up and deposit them in Jotunheim.

As the gatekeeper lifts his sword and power of the bifrost begins to build, Loki disappears, murmuring to himself, "I'll take that as a 'yes,' then shall I?"

* * *

When most people go for a run, they just jog around the streets of the town or city where they live, else they might drive to a park to jog on dirt trails beneath the shade of the trees.

But Loki goes on runs through the darkness between realms.

It's calming—there's nobody else around to get in his way when he's in a foul mood, and thus no risk of him blowing anybody's head off and getting into trouble.

No, there's just the soft darkness around him, the pulsating bark of Yggdrasil beneath his feet, sometimes opaque, sometimes stars visible through the bark where they're scattered on the other side; the realms are glowing orbs or rings of vacillating color hanging from Yggdrasil's limbs like fruit.

And as he burns his furious energy away, the conscience of Yggdrasil permeates through him, and he can run and run and run and feel naught but alive, the monsters of his mind left behind in his footsteps.

He loves it here, in the beautiful quiet, the humming song of the universe thrumming through his veins.

Here neither time nor space can enforce themselves upon him.

And there's such thrill in the burn of his muscles moving, the rush of his blood flowing, the steady rhythm of his heart beating, the sting of his ribs flexing as he breaths the breath of stars, the scent of hydrogen and helium and ash wood.

It's the closest feeling he ever comes to happiness, the closest his belligerent mind ever comes to peace.

After running for three days straight, once he's calmed to the point where he knows for certain he won't explode anybody's insides for daring to speak or burn anybody alive for looking at him funny, he brushes aside the curtain of reality and steps onto Midgard, sweat beaded like stardust on his brow.

He'd focused his door on Thor, but he hadn't counted on the thunderer being at a cha-cha club with Jane, on a double date with Darcy and Ian.

The room is full of formally dressed couples swirling around on the dance floor in the dim lights, some modern pop song playing loudly, but not blasting.

"Brother!" says Thor in surprise, fumbling his footwork, before cha-cha-ing Jane over from the dance floor over to the trickster.

"Where have you been for the past few hours?" Thor inquires, clapping a large hand on Loki's sweaty shoulder. The thunder god is wearing a black suit, pink collared shirt and lavender-paisley tie that Jane must have bought him, as it matches the color of Jane's dress, that hugs tight around her ribs and then flows down around her knees.

Loki just shrugs, a translucent gold shimmering over his figure as his Asgardian leathers transform into a black suit, white collared shirt and plain olive-green tie. "Does it matter? I'm here now," he says smoothly, suave smile on his thin lips.

"Ow, Boyfriend, you just stepped on my foot again!"

Glancing over, they see Darcy and Ian cha-cha-ing rather clumsily at the edge of the crowded dance floor, Darcy in an orange sleeveless dress while Ian wears a blue shirt and sea foam tie, their colors clashing blatantly.

"Sorry," Ian mutters.

"Do you know how to cha-cha?" Jane asks, turning back to the God of Mischief, who's emerald eyes flick across the many dancers. "And do you have a partner?"

"I'll figure the dance out," Loki says confidently. "And as for a partner..." he walks with the air of a prince over to a group of ladies that are sitting at the bar on one side of the room, asking with an devilishly charming smile if one of them would like to dance with him.

The woman he asks glances up at the handsome figure of the mischief gods and blushes as she nods, and he takes her hand and leads her onto the dance floor just as "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga begins to play.

"Don't worry about him," Thor says as he grins at Jane's concerned expression, pulling her back onto the dance floor. "Loki's a natural dancer. And he's a gentleman—he'll make sure all the ladies get a chance to dance."

"And he's a charmer," Jane observes, as Loki says something to his dance partner and the woman laughs, blushing again as she lowers her mascaraed eyes at his compliment.

Thor chuckles as he twirls Jane around. "Yes, a charmer too."

* * *

As it turnes out, Loki crashes every single one of Thor and Jane's dates for the next fortnight.

At first Jane is totally cool with it, but after a while she begins to grow frustrated, saying, "Can't Thor and I go out _alone_ for once?!"

To which Loki crosses his arms over his chest and answers, "I've been Thor's chaperon for thousands of years, I'm not stopping now."

"He has," Thor admits with a simper. "Loki has ever been the more mature of us two, and was probably the only one who could deal with me when I'm, ah, inebriated."

"I had to carry him home over my shoulder a couple times," Loki nods, grinning impishly at the angry flush on Thor's cheeks. "Although if you can get him drunk enough, he's actually a decent singer."

"Did you ever get drunk?" Jane asks Loki curiously.

The dark god snorts, crinkling his nose at the memory as he says, "A few times. It was not enjoyable. I prefer to have my wits about me, thank you very much."

"Loki is the most boring drunk you've ever seen," Thor says, shaking his head with a fond a smile. "He goes silent first, and then after a while he just starts giggling uncontrollably, but that's about it. He's a _nightmare_ though when he has a hangover," the thunderer shudders. "After the first time when I woke him up and he turned me into a frog and wouldn't turn be back until his headache went away, I don't believe I ever encouraged him to get drunk again."

And so Loki continues to escort Thor and Jane on their dates, and Jane can't really complain.

His isn't that bad of company.

Although sometimes he randomly exclaims, "Stupid beast!" and disappears, reappearing after only a few minutes while muttering darkly to himself, "One day I am going to kill that bilgesnipe, I swear..."

But then one day when Loki gets that far away look in his eyes where otherworldly shadows crawl in the emerald depths, instead of cursing, Loki smiles down at his tapping fingers on the laptop keyboard, smiles in unadulterated and mischievous glee.

If Thor had seen that familiar smile, he would have felt a horrible wrenching in his gut, and asked what trouble his brother was up to this time.

But with Loki's face hidden by the computer screen, Thor does not see it.

* * *

The bilgesnipe breaks from his chains.

Again.  
He can't help it.

Dashing off into the snow, he snuffles around for prey, though there is hardly ever any.

But eventually he catches that familiar whiff of ash wood, and his clubbed tail wags excitedly, as he follows the scent to where it's strongest, pouncing on the spot and once more falling into a strange darkness, so cold it feels liquid and wet.

And then he's somewhere else, like he always is when he finds those spots—the portals move around and are never in the same place, though sometimes he ends up somewhere that smells the same as another time, but there's always food there.

He can usually catch some of the small feathered or scaled ones, though they're mostly bones, not that that really matters to him seeing as he considers bones a delicacy.

Sometimes though there's even some of the larger two-legged creatures that aren't the cold blue of his masters, and they yell and hit at him with pointy objects that bounce right off his hide. They make better meals.

The dark small ones that live underground taste kind of like metal and rock and dirt; the tall light ones taste kind of like the dark ones with white faces and blank eyes, except a bit sweeter; the large red ones taste hot and burn his tongue; the transparent ones don't taste like anything and he can't even bite them; and the rest just taste warm and salty.

Usually though something interferes before he can eat more than a couple, some dark figure that sends him back to his icy home after all he's achieved is to trample whatever else stands in his way, be it wood or metal or rock, not much can stand against him.

Except he never can hit the dark figure, that just weaves and turns opens and closes doors.

But the dark figure hasn't appeared, and the bilgesnipe takes the opportunity to try and gorge himself—it's unusual though that there are all the different creatures in one place, but it doesn't matter.

"Brøl! Stop!"

The bilgesnipe stops, looking towards where his master is running over to him all blue and cold and shouting at him.

"What do you think you're doing?! These are peaceful trade parties! You're only supposed to hunt hostiles!"

But the bilgesnipe doesn't understand much more than "Kill," and "Destroy," though his master seems angry, and so he stops his trampling of the various tents and stands there as more of his master's blue men gather around, shouting back and forth with the other angry creatures, and battles are breaking out everywhere, and with an eager roar the bilgesnipe joins in.

After all, killing is what bilgesnipe do best.

There's no such things as enemies or friends—just predators and prey.

* * *

Fighting breaks out at a trading post on the edge of Vanaheim, and narrowing his eyes, Heimdall analyzes the situation, the groups of dwarfs, light elves, Venir, Aesir, Frost Giants and Fire Giants, as well as their creatures escaped and running rampant through their ranks, and his lips tighten.

"Loki," Heimdall says, and he sees the dark god look up from his laptop screen on Midgard. "The Nine Realms could use their King."

And Loki smiles. "I'll be right there," the trickster says quietly, too quiet for Thor to hear across the table where he's talking with Jane, but loud enough for Heimdall to catch.

Loki excuses himself from the table, thanking Jane for letting him stay for the lovely vacation, but he has to get back to work.

And then he disappears from Midgard.

In Asgard, Heimdall sees Odin wake up.

* * *

The Realms are in full blown Universal War—every realm except the oblivious Midgard, the apathetic Helheim, and the deserted Svartalfheim (after Malekith's failure to bring Darkness to the Universe, the surviving Dark Elves had attacked Asgard and been quickly obliterated).

_So, a Six-Realm War_, Loki thinks smugly to himself. _Not bad._

It was bound to happen, he knows, with all the tension that's been building up between all the realms. It would have happened even without his role in its instigation.

But it's better to ignite the fire while it will still be manageable, rather than waiting for the fuel to build and build till when it catches it's uncontrollable.

It's like the mortals' controlled burning in order to reduce the risk of wildfires.

And so he has Odin stall, keeping Asgard out of the war until it's absolutely clear that the other Realms aren't going to be resolving their differences anytime soon (and they burn off some of that searing desire to _fight_.)

Only then does Asgard come sweeping into the equation, with their skilled fighting troops and advanced weaponry, ready to be the policing force of the Realms, kicking just enough ass to have the other Realms back down with their tails between their legs.

Though that might take a while—and to be honest, even the Aesir are enjoying themselves, excited to put their new fighting skills to real use.

But without the thunder god, Asgard's forces lack their usual zeal, and one Realm cannot truly believe to easily defeat five others.

Yet Loki has Odin hold a grudge against Thor for deserting his homeland, waiting till after a few weeks of war before ordering Heimdall to get Thor away from his girlfriend on Midgard and down to the battlefield where he belongs.

When Thor arrives, the battle is currently in Musphelheim.

The thunderer's arrival is heralded by lighting and thunder and _rain, _and Surtur's army of burning giants roar with ire as steam rolls from their flaming skin.

"About time," Odin grumbles from the head of the line as Thor flies to his side, grinning in anticipation, the thrill of battle already rushing through his Asgardian veins.

"What's our strategy?" Thor asks gruffly as he readjusts his grip on Mjonlnir.

And it's times like these when he sometimes forgets that the Odin is actually Loki, with the red in his vision and Odin's voice as the King rides his goat-driven chariot with Gungnir in his hand, and says, "I need you to lead the Aesir in the attack of Surtur's thugs—get the guards out of the way, so that I can take Surtur."

"But—"

"I've defeated Surtur before," Odin reminds his son, blinking his one blue eye. "I can do it again, even with these old bones."

A group of Fire Giants closes in on the two of them, and as Thor smites one with Mjolnir and Odin disintegrates one with Gungnir, another demon grabs the Allfather's arm.

And this time, Loki _wills _his body to take on that form, and instead of burning his arm turns the same fiery crimson shade as the Fire Giant's, whose flickering orange eyes widen in surprise before the gold spear impales him.

"So you're a Fire Giant as well?" Thor inquires, raising a blond eyebrow. It's times like this when he's reminded that the King of Asgard is not his father but his crafty younger brother.

"You wish," Odin snorts, voice slightly deeper and younger than normal, as the red fades from his hand and his skin becomes his usual peach color. "Now go disperse those guards!"

And Thor nods and takes off with Mjolnir, the Aesir cheering as he joins their ranks, blasting back the line of Fire Giants.

"Finally summoned the willpower to get out of bed and join us, I see," Fandral remarks to the thunderer as he slashes a fire giant across its face.

"Shut up," Thor growls. He raises Mjolnir to pummel the giant, but a Frost Giant beats him to it, stabbing the Fire Giant through with a blade of ice. As the red figure crumples to the ground the Jotun nods once to them before dashing back into the fray.

"The Jotuns are on our side?" Thor asks in bewilderment, swinging around to knock down three approaching demons like the Midgardian game of Dominoes.

"They apparently hate the Fire Giants more than they hate us," Sif explains, before having to duck a flaming fist and roll, slicing at the demon's legs as she adds, "Especially after Odin gave them the Casket back."

Slamming one of the red giants in the face, Thor grunts, "I see," and spares a glance at Odin, who's flying his chariot around Surtur's head, barely avoiding the pillars of flame that fire from the King of Musphelheim's sword. The goats Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr hoof through the air, shaggy coats plastered with sweat, smoke pouring from their nostrils as their gold horns gleam in the flickering firelight.

The already scorched and dead-looking landscape is now pockmarked with craters and littered with dead bodies, and the thought briefly crosses Thor's mind that he knows fallen Aesir and Vanir go to Valhalla, but he doesn't know where the giants that fight bravely end up.

He hears a bellow of, "Watch out below!" and just barely steps out of the way as Volstagg's bulk comes crashing down from a boulder, landing on a Fire Giant that hadn't moved in time, and Thor's fairly sure he can hear the demon's bones crack. Or maybe it's just the crackling of flames.

Nevertheless the giant doesn't live long, as Volstagg promptly stands and hacks off it's head with an ax already stained with the burning scarlet of Fire Giant blood.

"Good of you to join us, Thor!" the rotund fellow says. "When do we get to meet your kid?"

"_My kid?!" _Thor asks in disbelief, nearly faltering his next blow against one of the flaming demons that has surrounded them, seeming to realize that the thunderer poses the largest threat and must be stopped; they bear down on the Asgardians like sharks.

"Yeah, you know, your baby," Volstagg says, standing at Thor's back and hefting his double-headed ax. "How long does pregnancy last for mortals?"

"Yes, how _is _your mortal girlfriend," Sif quips, blades flashing, dark hair for once tied up in a sloppy bun to keep it from so easily catching on fire.

The circle of giants close in on them, and Thor roars, "THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR SUCH CONVERSATION!" as he's unleashing Mjolnir's lightning and they're all ducking and dodging and slashing and weaving and trying not get caught on fire.

"She's pretty," Fandral offers, when he ends up fighting side by side with the thunderer. "For a mortal."

Before Thor can answer, the circle of red giants are impaled with icicles.

"TAKE THAT, YOU INFERNAL DEMONS!" a Frost Giant roars, sliding over with an ice sword and severing flaming heads.

Another Frost Giant completely freezes a demon, saying, "That's to cool your in_flamed_ ego!" and shattering the figure with well-aimed blow.

"I like these Jotuns," Fandral grins at the baffled Thor. "They're good with the puns."

* * *

Meanwhile Loki is having a dangerously good time trying to give Surtur a haircut while simultaneously avoiding the flaming sword.

Now if he could just get the stupid giant tired enough to need to raise his sword with both hands and leaves his chest exposed... which might take a while. Oh well. Loki has time. As much time as he wants.

The goats are enjoying themselves too, judging by the way they're snickering as they roll their eyes at Surtur continues to miss hitting them.

It was about the equivalent of trying to hit a fly with a wooden spoon—no matter how fast you swing it through the air, you manage to hit everywhere the fly isn't.

And well, Frost Giants are large—but Fire Giants are even larger, by a good head. And Surtur, King of Musphelheim, is colossal: at least thrice the size of a normal Fire Giant, he towers above the army on par with the the jagged black mountains.

He could probably crush the entire Asgardian force, if he wasn't so distracted by Odin Allfather zapping him—Odin, who defeated him centuries ago!

"YOU WILL NOT WIN THIS TIME, ALLFATHER!" Surtur bellows at the old man in the chariot.

"That's what you said last time!" Odin points out, managing to hack off another clump of fiery hair with his spear.

Zipping, zooming, flitting and darting, for what feels like hours and may very well be, and finally Surtur shows signs of tiring.

Not that Loki was bored—there's fire everywhere. Fire is entertaining. Thus he's been very entertained.

Also, Surtur has laughable expressions, his crimson face screwing up in anger, fury, ire, rage, hatred, mouth gaping in snarls and a vein ticking in his forehead.

And though Surtur's arm is trembling, he does not use both hands to hold it, making sure his chest is guarded at all times.

At first Loki had thought it would be amusing if Surtur were defeated the same way twice, but now he mutters, "Oh fuck this," a phrase he'd picked up from the mortals, and throws Gungnir into Surtur's right eye—just like Odin.

Surtur unleashes a _scream _of fury, flailing with his sword, flames shooting everywhere and lighting up the sky.

* * *

As the scream tears through the air and the sky is filled with gold and orange and scarlet fire, the battle on the ground comes to a cessation as everyone turns their gaze towards the King of Musphelheim and Odin's chariot, the goats' white coats a blinding white in the firelight as they turn sharply to avoid the flames.

Almost in slow motion the chariot tips, and Odin loses his grips on the railings and tumbles out of the vehicle, straight into the flames of Surtur's sword, and they catch a glimpse of bone as flesh and armor are burned away.

And then Thor is bellowing, "NO," and twirling Mjolnir and taking off, and it takes only a few moments for him to end the life of the half-blinded Fire Giant, and as the fires die out and Surtur's sword falls to the ground, ash rains down, silver and gray, mixing with the rain to form black slush at everyone's feet.

The Fire Giants raise their hands in surrender, letting the fire that had been flickering over their skin die out.

When Thor comes walking out of the smoke and steam, his face is stony to the point of nearly cracking, and he carries Odin's helmet in his hands, the metal melted and warped nearly past recognition.

Silence rages heavy as a blizzard, smothering them all in its noncorporeal avalanche.

The Allfather is dead.

* * *

Thor stands at the balcony of his chambers, staring out over the mourning city, the blue orbs that the Aesir unleash to honor the souls still bobbing in the night sky, like thousands of little moons.

The new King of Asgard has ended the war, secured truces and treaties, and has now watched yet more flaming ships sail into the horizon, a mirthless smile twitching his lips as he realizes that essentially, he has no lost his mother, brother, and father, within a ridiculously short amount of time.

If he didn't laugh again for a century, would anyone really be surprised?

But of course that won't happen—he's king now. He can do whatever he wants.

Which includes making Jane his queen, if she's willing, if he explains to her about Idunn's apples, and she's willing to live a life of immortality with him and leave her Midgardian friends behind.

A falcon swoops low over Thor's head, dropping something at his feet with a coin-like _clink _as it utters a shrill cry and fades off into the night.

Picking up the soft leather pouch, Thor sees that there's a note tied to the drawstrings, words written in black ink on white paper with perfect, lilting script.

The words: _You won the bet. _

Loki," Thor says with a grave chuckle. "I should have known you were still alive."

"No need to sound so disappointed," Loki says, voice low and breathy, as he comes up beside Thor and leaning against the balcony to face his brother, smirk on his shadowed features.

"You forced me to be king, did you not," Thor accuses.

Loki's smile broadens, and he looks down at his ghostly fingers as they trace over the stone railing. "You were born and raised to be a king, Thor. You can't fight your fate."

"So were you," Thor says, frowning, expression illuminated by silver moonlight while Loki's unreadable face is shrouded in shadow.

"No, my birthright was to die," Loki says, in such a way Thor can tell that the sentiment is not one that Loki came up with himself but something he must have been told. "And I was raised to be your shadow."

Thor snorts, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. "Is that why you keep faking your death?" he demands.

The laugh that staggers from Loki's throat is harsh and humorless. "That's not what I meant," he says, shaking his head, tendrils of dark hair falling into his eyes. "I've been searching for my place in the universe ever since I found out my life was a lie. And my place is not King of Asgard. I've never been able to be you, no matter how hard I might have tried. And I'm not spending my life playacting as a foolish old man."

Loki pats Thor on the shoulder, grin turning teasing. "Well, have fun being King! Call me if you need me." and with that Loki turns to leave.

"Brother!" Thor says, grabbing his little brother's arm tightly, brow creased.

Tugging at his brother's grip, Loki frowns when he realizes Thor is not going to let go. "What?" Loki snaps, glaring at him.

"Stay," Thor pleads.

"Oh Brother," Loki drawls, putting his free hand on Thor's unshaven cheek, the blond beard scratchy beneath his fingers. "There is no place for me here. Asgard thinks me long dead, and it's best it stay that way."

Determined, Thor opens his mouth to say something.

Loki cuts him off. "No no no, I know that look," the dark god says warningly, removing his hand from Thor's cheeks pointing his finger at the thunderer. "Even if you said you brought me back from Hel somehow and trust me as your advisor or whatever, everybody else will constantly be suspecting me of evil, and they'll only be wrong half the time. Banish the foolish thoughts from your mind and _let me go." _

When Thor doesn't, Loki leans down and bites Thor's hand so hard that when Thor jerks his hand away, there's sanguine blood dripping from his fingers and from Loki's mouth as the trickster grins maliciously at him.

The thunderer moves towards Loki, who hops up onto the balcony, ready to step off into the sky and transform into a falcon to soar away, but he pauses as he hears two words leave Thor's lips, soft and beseeching.

"Brother please."

* * *

**Eheheh, I hope I managed to surprise you at least once in this chapter with where I took it ;P**

**Okay I honestly can't decide whether I want to continue this or not... because I kind of do... but I kind of don't... but I probably will... I have too many ideas, ohmygodskjfkdsajfksldj**

**Anyways, I've love to hear your thoughts!**


	4. Reparation

**Ta da! This is the last chapter (I swear)!**

**It kind of gets increasingly AU, but I... I wanted the Feels :3 **

**And yes, I'm making Odin a douche. My interpretation of Odin is based on the Marvel comic "Blood Brothers" and Mike Vasich's book "Loki", in case anybody's wondering why I make him so evil. And Thor 2 didn't exactly do anything to assuage my feelings about him. **

**Also, I know that Sleipnir and Hela are both Loki's children in the myths, but I'm choosing in this fic for them to be unrelated because I simply cannot see my Loki here as a father.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chaos-green eyes blink, and slowly, slowly those bloodied lips curl up in a smile.

For a moment Thor allows hope to flutter its feathers inside his ribcage.

But that hope is dashed away when Loki whispers, "Then catch me," and lets himself fall into the darkness.

Thor rushes to the balcony and looks down just in time to see smoky wings snap open, and a falcon glide off on the rain-scented breath of night uttering a high, shrill cry that causes gathering clouds to shiver and brings the sky to tears.

* * *

Jane wakes up to the sound of Darcy's laughter and the scent of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.

When she walks into the kitchen wearing her lilac pajamas and fuzzy purple slippers, bleary-eyed, brown hair a tangled mess, she finds Darcy and Ian each eating a cookie, melted chocolate on their fingers and lips, as Loki stands there with a couple forks, placing more batter on the metal tray.

"_Loki?"_ Jane asks in disbelief, eyes widening as she feels suddenly very awake. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

"He just waltzed on in and asked if we could show him how to bake cookies," Darcy says, with her characteristic wide-eyed what-can-I-say-people-are-weird expression. "And since we had all the supplies, Boyfriend and I thought why the hell not."

"Is Thor here too?" Jane inquires hopefully.

The dark god chuckles, looking up from the cookie dough to smile at her, eyes coruscating shrewdly—and Jane remembers Thor telling her how Loki travels between realms through pathways and space, and she wonders for a moment if all that darkness gouged his eyes out and he shoved two stars into his empty sockets to take their place, and that's why those green eyes are _so fucking bright._

But the thought slips from her mind forgotten as he says, "No, Thor is still in Asgard, likely cursing my name."

"What did you do?" Jane says, stomach dropping at his gleefully impish expression.

"Oh, not much," Loki says casually, as the timer beeps and he finishes placing the rest of the cookie dough on the sheet and opens the oven, a wave of heat rolling over them as he grabs the sheet of baked cookies and slides in the new tray of dough.

He doesn't even use oven mitts as he holds the burning hot tray and sets it down on the burners on top of the stove.

"Cookie?" Darcy asks, offering a plate of them to Jane, who takes one, letting it dissolve sweet and chocolatey on her tongue.

Shifting his sharp gaze to the scientist, Loki says cryptically, "Thor will come down and make you an offer, which I suggest you consider well before giving him your answer." He turns to address Darcy and Ian. "I hope you don't mind if I take some of these Midgardian treats with me?" he inquires, raising a dark eyebrow.  
"Not at all," Ian says, gesturing at the trays. "Take as many as you'd like."

Loki nods in thanks and crosses over to the cabinet on the other side of the room in two long-legged strides, and removes a paper plate and roll of aluminum tinfoil. He then arranges a dozen or so cookies on the plate and covers it with the foil.

Inclining his head politely, Loki says, "Thank you for the educational baking experience, but I must bid you farewell. And oh—" he adds, as thunder rumbles in the distance, "I'd appreciate it greatly if you didn't tell Thor I was ever here. It can be our little secret."

(Although, Loki thinks wryly, their loyalties are far stronger to Thor than he, and they'll do doubt betray him. Just like everybody always does.)

And with that Loki steps out of Midgard's plane of reality, still holding the plate of cookies.

* * *

When Thor lands on the deck, it's immediately clear to Jane that something has changed, and her stomach drops, apprehension from Loki's words winding tighter.

It's the way Thor stands with the resigned determination of someone who carries the weight of the world on their shoulders—although in this case it's probably the weight of the _worlds, _Jane thinks—and has decided they will bear the burden with grace.

It's the way Thor says "Jane," his voice soft with caring and heavy with some knowledge he's nervous about imparting upon her.

It's the way Thor kisses her, both tender and hungrily, as if this is either the beginning or the end of something, and he doesn't know which.

"What is it?" Jane asks once they break apart, worry evident in her sorrel eyes.

"I am King of Asgard now," Thor states, and Jane's eyes widen, lips parting as she lets go of Thor's hands and takes a step back, expression almost betrayed.

"But that means you can't stay here," she realizes weakly.

"Jane," Thor says, and she can hear the confirmation of her fears in his voice. "We can still be together."

"How?" Jane asks dubiously. Anger begins to rise in her chest, that Thor will have to _leave her _again, even if he has no choice, and he won't be able to come back more than briefly every so often—and with her mortal lifespan, it's possible she might only see him another two or three times.

She knows a king can't just go on vacation for a few decades, and the thought _hurts._

Yet Thor's next words send a shock through her system, enough to send her heart trying to beat out of her chest.

"You can be my Queen," Thor says.

And Jane's frozen as he continues, "By eating Idunn's golden apples, you can retain your youth and live immortally by my side. Though you would have to live in Asgard and would seldom be able to visit your homeland here, and you would have to realize that you will outlive your friends here. It would stress the laws and beliefs of Asgard enough to bring you up, you know I couldn't do so for your friends as well. And eating Idunn's apples, though it will keep you immortal, it shan't turn you into an Aesir—you will still be human."

And Jane hears the subtext there, the _You will still be a fragile mortal._

It's a question of love, she realizes. Whether her love for Thor is great enough she would leave behind everything she's ever known, or whether her love for her friends and home overpower her love for the god.

And Jane remembers Loki's words: _Thor will come down and make you an offer, which I suggest you consider well before giving him your answer._

Thor is waiting, watching her with fearful, resigned blue eyes.

"I..." Jane starts, letting her gaze fall from his handsome face to the deck, where she shuffles her feet in their fuzzy purple slippers. "I need to think about it."

"I understand," Thor says, and she can tell he does. "I will leave you to your decision then, as I have more duties I must attend to." He's about to leave before he pauses. "You haven't by any chance seen Loki recently, have you?" he inquires.

For a moment Jane is about to tell Thor that yes, in fact she has, but she remembers Loki asking that his visit be kept secret with such an expression it was obvious he was used to people disparaging his word, and Jane just shakes her head at the thunder god.

And to be honest, she wants to spite Thor a little.

There's a rush of power and from behind her closed eyelids and Jane doesn't see the rainbow beam that takes Thor back up to Asgard. Doesn't see his silver armor gleaming, doesn't see his red cape fluttering, doesn't see how his grip is white-knuckled on Mjolnir.

Tears slide down her cheeks, and when she opens her eyes he's gone.

"Well fuck," Darcy says from the doorway. "That sucks."

* * *

The mists are silver, twisting and curling, so thick that Loki can barely see his feet as his black boots stir the mist like water.

In front of him the dark, hulking canine shadow of Garm becomes visible standing before the entrance of Hel.

Sounds are muffled as well, and Garm's thunderous snarling seems but a kitten's purr through the mist that Loki holds close about his figure until he gets within a few yards of the wolf.

_You are not dead, _Garm growls at the god, baring long white teeth. The wolf's eyes are a glowing red, like there's fires lit behind them, and muscles ripple visibly beneath her smoky black coat as she shifts threateningly, claws carving into the rocky ground.

"No," Loki agrees, smirking. "Though I've been close to it countless times and have been believed such at least twice."

_What brings you here, Trickster? _

"A social visit, if you will," Loki answers calmly.

_Forget it, _Garm snarls, tail beginning to wag low and dangerously. _Hela will not see you. _

"I have cookies," Loki says, as he gestures with his right hand at the aluminum foiled plate held in his left, smiling innocently. "They're chocolate-chip."

Garm sniffs the air, the scent of freshly baked cookies lingering strongly about the god. _And you think cookies change anything? _The wolf growls, mocking.

"Yes," Loki says immediately, smile growing continuously more angelic. "They make good bribes and peace offerings."

_Says the mischief god, _Garm gives a barking laugh. _This is Helheim, Sly One. Bribes and peace offerings are meaningless here. _

"How about distractions?" Loki offers.

Too late Garm snaps at him with her bone-crushing jaws—the illusion dissipates into nothingness, grinning like a skull.

* * *

"Loki," Hela greets, as the dark god strides into her holding something round and glinting silver in his left hand, making no effort to step over the bones that are strewn across the hall. They crunch beneath his black boots.

"Hela," Loki nods, coming up before her throne of skulls and lowering to one knee, tilting his head down respectfully.

He then jumps up, saying, "How have you been darling? You life hasn't been hell, I hope."

"No, it's been _hela_ fun," she smirks. "But just because the mortals believe—falsely—that I am your daughter simply because we look similar does _not _give you the right to call me pet names," she says, voice lowering to a threatening, sibilant hiss.

And with the God of Mischief and Ruler of Helheim standing next to each other, it's easy to see why people might think they're related.

Both ghostly pale, both raven-haired, both with eyes the luminous green of their magic since their powers stem from the same chaotic force of Yggdrasil, and both wearing black and green—in Loki's case his Asgardian leather armor, in Hela's case a sweeping gown.

However Hela's face is obscured by a black mask and headpiece, the black antlers of which twist ornately out and upwards.

"Do so again and I will—"

"Kill me?" Loki interrupts, raising his eyebrows as he walks up the steps to her throne, lifting up the aluminum foil as he sets the plate on her throne's arm rest, offering her one even as he takes one himself. "Get in line, love. Though I'm afraid then you would be stuck with me and my mischief until Ragnarok."

"I was _going_ to say: beat you bloody, you insufferable creature," Hela snaps, though she takes one of the chocolate-chip cookies in a slender, pallid hand.

"They smell good," she remarks. "What are they?"

"Chocolate-chip cookies," Loki says. "A Midgardian dessert."

"What does it taste like?" she questions cautiously.

"Like warm sunlight in winter, except with more chocolate. Try it."

* * *

Thor growls to himself, low and rumbling in the back of his throat as he paces the Observatory, only vaguely aware of Heimdall's amber gaze flitting to him every once in a while, though mostly the gatekeeper tries to ignore Thor while he paces like a starved and restless animal in its golden cage. An animal that can _see _and _smell _freedom but can't reach it.

_Clomp clomp clomp, _Thor's boots pound out a steady beat on the floor. Steady as a hammer.

That's what Thor has always been, and nobody worries because they know just where he'll be.

It's Loki that terrified people, in his erratic behavior and unpredictable tendencies, and Loki only made it worse by cloaking himself in mysteries and speaking words that no matter how simple they appeared were always riddled with complexities, using pride as the impervious armor of his insecurities, so nobody could ever tell whether he was content or suffering.

Thor has never been good at understanding Loki.

No one has, actually. That trickster's mind is like a maze, Thor knows, convoluted and dark, with trapdoors and booby traps and death traps and loops in all four dimensions and not a single dead end.

Trying to think like Loki gets Thor nothing but a headache.

But oh Loki's clever, and ever has been able to read Thor like a picture book, often knowing what Thor's going to do before Thor knows himself.

If Loki doesn't want to be found then he will never be found.

But if Loki wants to be found, he will go where he knows Thor will look for him.

So then if he wants to find Loki, Thor realizes, he doesn't have to try to figure out where Loki would go—he just has to figure out where he would look for Loki.

And he runs their last conversation through his mind, one thing Loki said jumps out at him, and Thor has the urge to facepalm even as he hops into the flying boat that he left resting beside the bridge and speeds off across the water towards the city of Asgard.

"_There is no place for me here. Asgard thinks me long dead, and it's best it stay that way. Even if you brought me back from Hel somehow..."_

Loki has always told Thor that he's a hopeless liar.

Well, if Thor is correct, he won't have to lie.

All he needs is Sleipnir.

* * *

Hela raises her eyebrows in pleased surprise as the chocolate-chip cookie melts in her mouth. "They're alright," she concedes, trying to sound perfunctory, though she's already reaching for another one.

Chuckling, Loki opens his mouth to say something, but he's abruptly cut off by a bellowed, "YOU FAILURE OF A SON!"

Loki pauses, a sardonic smirk stretching across his lips as he turns to see Odin's spirit vibrating there lividly. The old man's but a shade, a shifting form in the mist of silvers and grays, appearing sometimes substantial and sometimes completely ethereal.

"Ah, Allfather," Loki says, eyes lighting up in elation at Odin's ire. "I wondered if you would be here."

"The Valkyrie wouldn't let me into Valhalla—Valhalla, which _I _created," Odin grunts, glaring with the ghostly orb of his left eye and the empty socket of his right. "I seem to have failed with you, if after all I've done to try to make you a beast of hatred you still had too much _love_ and _mercy_ to fight and kill me."

"Oh no, you misunderstand," Loki laughs, high and cold and cruel. "You succeeded with me quite admirably. You see, if you wanted to be killed in battle, you chose the wrong son to dispatch you. You taught Thor honor and chivalry."

Loki lowers his voice, expression shifting into something dark, pained insanity sparking in the depths of his shadowed green eyes that suck in the light like black holes. "You taught me to find exactly what it is somebody wants most, and make sure they never get it."

At this proclamation Odin's face crumples. Even as but a spirit he looks weary and thousands of years old, like he might just crumble apart. "I've made so many mistakes," he realizes, looking down at where his feet dissipate into nothing.

Loki laughs again. "You know, Mother told me that a _true_ king admits his faults. Ironic, I think, when you never did."

As Odin closes his eye in denial, his shoulders begin to tremble.

And oh, Loki is _enjoying _this, as he descends the steps towards the one he once called Father, his movements precise and predatory, his voice pitched low and acrimonious. "So tell me, what is it you regret? Taking me from Jotunheim, from that cold barren rock where I should have died so I wouldn't be here to hate you? Or perhaps you regret I did not turn out to be the tool you'd intended?"

Odin shakes his head, saying quietly, "No Loki."

And Loki can't stop _laughing. _

* * *

Entering the stables, the smell of hay and horse manure washes over Thor as he strides down to Sleipnir's stall.

The large dappled-gray horse nickers in greeting, his eight hooves dancing in agitated anticipation, as if he can tell where they'll be going, and that they will be retrieving his favorite person.

Sleipnir adores Loki, even though it was Loki's magical accident that caused the horse to have eight legs.

But Loki had said: no harm done. After all, Sleipnir is now the fastest horse in all the Nine Realms, and can travel places almost no other creature can travel to and still come back alive.

"Come on, Sleipnir," Thor says, as he leads the steed outside, quickly fastening the horse with saddle and bridle and swinging up onto his back. "Let us bring Loki home."

He clicks his tongue, and Sleipnir takes off towards the bifrost bridge, eliciting rainbow sparks with every step.

Heimdall sets them down on the edge of Niflheim, as close as anyone living can get to Helheim.

But Sleipnir finds the way through the oceans of mist, the trail of solid ground that winds through the ravenous bog with its oppressive stink of death and decay.

There are icy black rivers with waterfalls that roar like the harsh battle cries armies on the losing side of a battle, rivers that could sweep away entire kingdoms, but Sleipnir's speed is such that he barely touches the ground and might as well be flying through the air, and he dashes straight over the crying rapids that are white with rabid froth.

There's so much mist and darkness and bone-chilling cold, and Thor grits his chattering teeth to try to keep them still, shivers convulsing through his frame.

And somewhere it seems Sleipnir crosses realities, as ghostly figures become visible in the mists, their cries not so much sorrowful as _empty _as they reach with smoky limbs and see with shadowed holes instead of eyes; the lost spirits of the dead, doomed to wander the edges of Helheim for eternity.

After what could have been days, hours, or merely minutes, the mists are dispersed slightly by a warm breath that stinks of blood and smoke and rotting flesh, and Garm is there standing before them, lip curled and teeth bared, black fur rising in agitation.

Sleipnir whinnies, rearing slightly on his back four legs.

"Shhh," Thor says calmingly, patting the steed's dappled-gray neck, dark mane smooth beneath his palm.

_Another one of the Living, _Garm snarls. _State your purpose in Hela's realm. _

"I've come to retrieve Loki," Thor states, bold and honest.

To his surprise, Garm gives an exasperated pant, growling, _Yes, get the Trickster out of here. _

And with that she lies down, head on her paws as she allows them passage into the heart of Helheim, though her burning eyes stay on them till they disappear completely into the cave of darkness on the other side.

Long and winding and pitch dark, echoing of final breaths and last words, murmurings of love and gasped curses. The darkness is so deep and palpable that Thor cannot tell whether his eyes are opened or closed, and the air is so cold that he loses all feeling in his body, and can only feel the speed of Sleipnir beneath him as they tear through the cave.

One could become lost here easier than breathing, Thor thinks.

But eventually Sleipnir finds the way out, and although the light of Helheim is dim as twilight it blinds Thor after all that time in darkness, and he clenches his eyes shut and ducks his head on reflex.

When his eyes adjust and he's able to open them again and look around, Thor sees that there are fires on this side, flame and mist twirling in some chaotic dance. Though the flames don't so much as make the place brighter, they give the place a semblance of _life, _almost, amid the overwhelming presence of death, heavy and dark and inevitable.

They make Helheim seem slightly less depressing.

(Even if the only reminder of life is pain.)

The mists clear when they reach the throne room, and Thor utters a yell as he sees Hela grab Loki, one lean arm around his chest and the other holding a gleaming obsidian dagger to his throat.

"Unhand my brother!" Thor orders, swinging off Sleipnir to the floor, bones crunching beneath his feet as he strides forward, only to stop when he notices that Loki looks positively _triumphant. _

"What, you're not enjoying your stay here?" she purrs, and her green gaze is not fixed on Thor. "I could make it more torturous for you by killing Loki to keep you company and turn your regret into agony."

Only then does Thor notice the smoky figure of his father in front of him.

"Odin?" Thor asks, as the old man turns to look at him in surprise.

"My son," Odin acknowledges.

"Why don't you tell him," Loki calls, voice raspy and hoarse from hysterics, "Tell _your son _all that you've done, all your intentional _mistakes _that have pitted him against the one he calls 'Brother' in order that you might fulfill the Norn's prophecy of Ragnarok! Why don't you tell _your son _how the very same words he swore—when we returned from that excursion to Nornheim—would never come to pass, _you _have been instigating!"

"_What?!" _Thor demands, turning on the old man, fists clenched into fists. "Is this true?"

"You can't fight your fate," Odin says stiffly.

There's something like betrayal in Thor's face, anger and denial and a wry humor that he must have gotten from Loki, as he says, "If you truly believe that," he rumbles, "Then you are a fool. Loki is my brother and always will be, and I will not push him away and believe the worst of him just because of the incoherent ramblings of some old ladies."

"You are a disappointment," Odin growls.

"Good," Thor says, and when Loki's lips twitch so do his. "Because Loki is not the only one who has lost the desire to make you proud."

The old man looks about to say something more, but Thor cuts him off with, "Oh, and by the way: Loki made a better king than you did."

And that's apparently all Odin's spirit can take. With one last scalding but dead stare, he fades away into nothing.

"Cowardly, unlovable old man," Thor grumbles to himself.

Behind him, Sleipnir snorts and paws at the ground in agreement.

After waiting another moment for the dark god to calm down, Hela finally lets Loki go, a drip of red on his neck; and as his lean body trembles with adrenalin, Thor realizes that threatening to kill Loki was probably just the Queen of the Dead's excuse for restraining him.

Thor doesn't know if it's possible to injure someone who is already dead, but if it can be done Loki would be able to figure it out.

"Brother," Thor says gently. "It will be okay."

Loki's wild eyes snap to his face. _I don't believe you, _they scoff, more black than green.

And Thor has nothing to say, and so he says nothing, instead choosing to ascend the steps to where Loki stands and pull his little brother into a hug.

They stay that way—Loki with his arms around Thor's chest while Thor has his arms around Loki's shoulders, one hand on Loki's back and the other at the nape of Loki's neck—until finally Loki's shaking stops and he pushes the thunderer away, eyes cast down in a way that says his pride won't let him thank Thor for defending him, however grateful he is that Thor, if nobody else, will stand with him no matter what.

"Cookie?" Hela offers, breaking the awkward moment as she holds out the plate of chocolate-chip treats.

"They're better than poptarts," Loki adds, finally looking up at his brother.

Thor smiles as he takes a cookie. "Don't mind if I do."

"Come to the dark side!" Loki crows suddenly. "We have cookies!"

"What?" two voices chorus in confusion.

Loki shrugs, eyes beginning to regain their mischievous luster. "Oh, you know: Midgardian phrase."

* * *

On their way back to Asgard riding Sleipnir, Loki insists on sitting in front with control of the reigns while Thor has to hold around his waist.

"I know the way better than you do," Loki points out.

"It doesn't matter if I don't know the way," Thor grumbles. "Sleipnir knows it."

"Exactly—it doesn't matter, so you should stop complaining about having to sit on the back," Loki smirks, and Thor has the urge to hit him.

But instead he just rests his chin on Loki's shoulder, dark hair tickling his nose, breathing in Loki's familiar scent of ash wood.

In the darkness of the tunnel Gnipahellir Thor subconsciously grips Loki tighter, burying his face into his brother's hair just to make sure he's still there in the black and the cold that presses around them like an ocean.

"Thor, I can't breathe," Loki gasps, voice muffled, and Thor jumps at the noise, nearly falling off Sleipnir before he feels Loki's hand grab him by the cape and haul him back up.

For some reason Thor hadn't realized that you could hear anything in the cave.

"Idiot," Loki snorts.

"Keep talking," Thor says, practically pleading.

"What?" comes Loki's voice, the smirk evident even in the inky blackness. "The Mighty Thor, afraid of the dark?"

"Shut up," Thor growls.

"I thought you just told me to keep talking."

There's silence, and Thor practically whimpers.

"Loki _please _keep talking."

"I'm surprised you made I through Gnipahellir even once, if it disarms you so."

"It was awful."

"Oh, this is priceless! You will fight your way through hundreds of warriors without batting an eye, you will temporarily sacrifice your girlfriend of your own volition, you will face a Kursed Dark Elf that beat you into the dirt, but you are unnerved by a little dark and cold."

"Thank you for summing that up."

"You would never have survived the void, you know."

Light breaks upon them, and Garm's hot and fetid breath greets them as they screw their eyes shut and crinkle their noses.

_So, the little Asgardians return. I see you're taking the Trickster home, Thunderer, just as you promised. _

Loki bites down the urge to snap, _"I don't have a home."_

But he does though, doesn't he? Thor says, "Indeed."

_Good riddance, _Garm growls, and the ground rumbles as the wolf's tail thumps against it.

Loki laughs.

They continue on into the stirring stormy-gray mists, and everything looks so similar in takes Thor a while to realize they're going a different direction than the way he came—the ground beneath Sleipnir's eight hooves sounds softer, less rock and more soil and vegetation, and the mists are taking on an unfamiliar argent shade.

"Loki, we're going the wrong way," Thor says, apprehension creeping into his tone. The droplets of mist are wet and cool as they drizzle against his skin, and he shivers, pressing closer to his little brother even though Loki's skin is just as pale and cold.

"No we're not," Loki says assuredly.

"Yes we are. It feels different," Thor protests, reaching for the reigns before Loki pulls them away, slapping at Thor's large hand.

"It's a _different _way," Loki says, turning his head to glare at Thor. "But that doesn't mean it's the _wrong _way."

Thor pauses. At least Sleipnir has slowed from a trot to a walk. With eight legs, Sleipnir's trot just about rattles the teeth in Thor's skull till he's sure they're going to fall out if he opens his mouth. Not to mention he can barely stay on the horse.

Sleipnir's walk though is significantly smoother, and he has the easiest canter of any horse in the Nine Realms, and one of the most comfortable gallops, despite being by far the most powerful.

"So where are we going?" Thor asks after a few moments.

"You'll see."

"I can't see hardly _anything _in this damn mist!"

"Patience, Brother."

"I am being patient!"

"No you're not."

"Yes I am!"

"Well now you're just being contradictory."

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not!"

"See? You're being contradictory."

Thor growls in annoyance, and Loki elbows him in the gut, admonishing, "Not in my ear," and leaving Thor clutching his side and gasping. Damn but Loki's elbow is _bony. _

* * *

When the mists finally clear, Sleipnir stands at the top of a large verdant hill. Looking down into the valley below, Thor sees the enormous, majestic hall of Valhalla with its roof thatched with gold shields, the golden tree of Glasir before it.

"Well?" Loki asks, sounding pleased. He turns his head to assess Thor's expression, and the thunderer sees that Loki is grinning hugely.

Licking his dry lips, Thor manages, "What are we doing here?"

"Just passing through," Loki says with a tone of nonchalance that can't even fool Thor.

"You're hoping we'll see Mother," Thor realizes, as Sleipnir begins trotting down the hill.

_Aaaaaargh, _Thor thinks, clenching his teeth and gripping Loki tighter.

Okay, it wasn't as bad as getting pounded in the face by that Kursed creature, but _still. _

Thor dismounts gratefully as Sleipnir stops beneath the gold boughs of Glasir, saying to his brother, "So how exactly do you plan to make this look unintentional?"

"Why, we pretend we died, and fight our way through the hall," Loki says, rolling his eyes as if that was obvious, as he too swings off the eight-legged steed.

"Right," Thor says, unconvinced.

"If we just walked through, they're bound to notice us," Loki points out, beginning towards the doors of the hall, Thor just beside him. The sounds of battle from Valhalla echo loudly—battle cries, the clashing of weapons, the crashing of broken tables and goblets being smashed. "But they're all drunk, dead warriors whose only purpose is to fight; they aren't going to be observant. So we just have to fight and yell and fight through them while trying not to actually get killed. Exactly what you do best."

"And hope that Mother sees us," Thor adds, hand on the handle into the hall. "And that nobody recognizes us."

Loki sends him a look, like, _But of _course _Mother will see us. Why would you ever think differently?_

And then Thor's pushing the doors open, and the two of them charge into the tumultuous mass of bodies.

It is, for lack of a better word, _insanity. _Warriors are everywhere in the colossal hall, wielding swords and axes and maces, throwing goblets and chairs and smashing tables and hacking off each other's limbs and continuing to fight, no matter if they're missing legs or heads or have spears protruding through their stomachs.

_And Loki thinks _my _plans are likely to get us killed? _Thor can't help but wonder to himself, as he utters a thunderous, "AAAAAARGGGGGGGGGH!" and throws himself into the fray, which happen to be composed of all the best and most talented warriors that have ever lived.

Thor can't help the grin that spreads like wildfire over his features as Mjolnir spins around him, though he makes sure it never leaves his hand. Oh, but _this _is a challenge worthy of the Mighty God of Thunder!

* * *

Loki, with a sword in one hand and a whip in the other, is a twirling, unstoppable force of glinting steel, his whip is a blur around him, making a cracking noise each time the tip of it's rope breaks the sound barrier.

And then somebody manages to meet his blade, parrying every stroke and grabbing his arm, and Loki's green eyes widen as he registers Frigga's smiling face. And she grabs his arm and pulls him over to the sidelines, slashing warriors out of their way, before casting a magical protection around the area where they stand.

While most of the warriors are severely maimed and scarred, Frigga is still all in one piece, which, Loki thinks, certainly says something about her battle prowess.

"Mother," Loki breathes, as she takes his face in her hands and presses a kiss to his forehead.

"You're not dead," she notices.

"Not yet," Loki agrees, and his eyes drink her in, her long blond hair he used to play with as a child, those fair hands that used to guide his in his first lessons of magic, those lips that are some of the only ones that have ever truly smiled at him, those blue eyes that are some of the only ones that have ever looked upon him with love and pride.

And when she pulls him into a hug, he doesn't resist.

Even in death she still smells of honeysuckle beneath the metallic tang of her gold armor.

"I'm so sorry," Loki murmurs into her hair, beginning to shake. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't... I couldn't do anything... you died, and I was stuck in that stupid cell... and I _couldn't save you..."_

"Shhh, my son," Frigga says, stroking his raven hair, still as silky as she remembers it from his youth. "It's alright, there was nothing you could have done. It was my time to go."

A sob shudders through Loki's lean form. "They... they didn't allow me to your funeral..." he says, for once not cursing himself for the weakness he shows as tears trickle down his face, over his lips and nose. "I... never got to say _goodbye." _

"This is not goodbye," Frigga says softly, pulling away just enough so he can see the sincerity in her face. "I'll always be there with you, right here," she says, touching where his heart is beating in his chest, pulsing life like a star beneath her fingers. And she fills a thrill through her veins, that her little boy is so very _alive_, in a way most of the warriors in this hall lacked even when they were alive.

Loki _knows _and he _sees _and _hears _and he _cares_, he cares so very much that it breaks him.

"I'm everywhere you want me to be," Frigga reminds him, smiling into the pained, sorrowful expression that pulls his features, wanting nothing more for him to smile, because that expression rends her soul so. "In the whisper of the wind at your window when you can't sleep at night, in the warmth of sunlight on your skin, in the sweet taste of honeycakes on your lips."

He sniffles, those green eyes looking down, and she can't remember the last time she saw him showing so much emotion, even in front of just her. "I love you, Loki, and I'll never leave you," she tells him, and there's nothing but truth in her words. Truth, warm and comforting, rather than the cold cruel truth he's grown so accustomed to holding in the hollow of his heart.

But oh, she needs for him to _remember _her, to remember warmth and comfort and love so he doesn't freeze himself in the coldness of the world he takes into his soul.

And when he looks back up at her, she can see him realize her words in the way light glimmers like flames in those green eyes, lighting up his pallid face as she smiles and brushes a lock of onyx hair behind his ear, as she remembers the very first time she made such a gesture when he was hardly a babe and just grown enough hair for it to hide those gorgeous eyes.

"Thor's here too," Loki admits finally, shifting his gaze to look for his brother amongst the battle. "Hopefully he hasn't gotten himself killed yet."

Frigga just laughs, spotting the streak of blond hair and silver hammer that is Thor, catching his eye and gesturing him over.

Thor's blue eyes alight as he spots them, and as he fights his way over where they stand in Frigga's little bubble of safety at the edge of the hall Loki hurriedly wipes all traces of tears from his face.

"Mother!" Thor says gaily, crushing her in a hug as she laughs.

"My son," she smiles, and as the sorrow clouds back over his features as he remembers arriving just moments too late to save her, she reassures him in the same manner she did her younger son.

She doesn't want them to mourn for her, when they have such long lives ahead of them, and she wishes nothing for them but the most happiness they can extract from Life, for them to live and love every moment, to take on ever cruel hurdle that Life can devise for them and come out of each one stronger.

Life is harsh enough without them hurting for her as well.

"You can cry for me," she tells them, knowing that no matter what she says she can't take the pain of loss away. "But know that I'm always there, in the air that dries the tears from your cheeks."

And as they talk, when she sees Loki's hand seek out Thor's, and both her sons holding onto each other as a lifeline, she feels the dead heart within her breast leap with joy, and hopes beyond hope that they never again let go.

* * *

The weight on the brothers' shoulders is lighter as they leave Valhalla on Sleipnir, so light they feels as if nothing could stop them from flying should they wish to, as if a cloud had been hanging over them for so long that now that it has blown out from covering the sun they're relishing the forgotten feeling of naught but blue sky above them.

They both know they can never return here again during their lives—won't be able to return till their deaths—as the Valkyrie chase the laughing gods out of Valhalla.

But neither of them mind, because they realize, just possibly, they might be okay.

"You will stay, right?" Thor asks, as he holds tight to Loki's waist while Sleipnir emerges from the mists that gather at the very edge of Asgard where Valhalla stands just out of reach, and the steed's eight legs propel them across the ocean towards the shining city of Asgard that gets larger and larger, buildings transforming from distant line of horizon to climbing proudly towards the clouds.

"Yes," Loki says, and he can feel the warmth against his neck from Thor's smile. "Yes, I will stay."

* * *

In the end, Jane agrees to becoming Thor's Queen.

"But I have three conditions," she warns.

"Name them," Thor says, as they sit in her house on the couch, Thor's legs spread out across the cushions and Jane sitting on his lap, leaning against his muscular chest.

"One, since this marriage will be a uniting of our realms, we have to live in Midgard for a month of every year," she says, sorrel eyes daring Thor to object.

He doesn't, so she continues, "Two, I get to bring my scientific equipment to continue my studies."

At this, Thor creases his brow. "Why would you need to?" he asks, genuinely not understanding. "In Asgard, you will discover that the rules of magic are not all governed by your scientific laws. Besides, Loki can tell you whatever you desire to know."

"Like he would," Jane snorts. "No thanks—I'd rather figure things out for myself."

Thor just shrugs, conceding. "Alright. What's the third?"

"Well, I understand that to be Queen of Asgard I will have to adopt Asgardian styles," Jane says, tracing her fingers over the metal circles on his vest. "And I don't have a problem with that, except that I be able to bring my slippers."

She wiggles her toes in her purple fuzzy slippers, and Thor laughs, saying, "Of course, my love," and pulling her into a kiss.

Somebody clears their throat, and Thor and Jane look up to see Darcy standing there, wearing a dough-splattered blue apron and an oven mitt on each hand, one orange and one red.

"Not to interrupt or anything," Darcy says, widening dark eyes in unconvincing innocence. "But I bothered Loki into helping me with a pineapple upside-down cake—since Selvigg actually brought over baking ingredients—and Ian is showing Loki how to make a mean taco, if you two are hungry."

"Loki cooking?" Thor asks in comical disbelief.

"Yep! Darcy grins. "He's quite good at it, except for lifting the electric mixer too high and splattering everyone and then breaking the device 'for its impudence,' as well as freaking me out by continuing to touch hot metal stuff because it apparently doesn't hurt him."

Thor's brow is creased, as if he still can't picture his uptight and occasionally snobby younger brother doing any sort of baking, but Jane interrupts him with, "Yes, of course we'd love some lunch."

As they walk over to the small round dinner table, dragging up more chairs, Jane says, "But won't Asgard protest to having a human as Queen?"

"At first," Thor admits, counting the chairs and realizing they were one short, so he moves two of the chairs out of the way and instead picks up the couch and sets it before the table. "But don't worry, Loki is very convincing with words, and he will out-logic them until they can't possibly complain without sounding like absolute idiots."

"If they even trust me," Loki snorts from where he's leaning against the stove and the lit burner.

"Um, Loki?" Ian says, tapping the god on the shoulder. "Your shirt is on fire."

* * *

The official story told to Asgard of Loki's return from the dead is that Thor went to Helheim to retrieve him, and was able to because Loki died with honor and should have gone to Valhalla but he angered the Valkyrie to such a point that they wouldn't take him, and then he'd proceeded to drive Hela crazy, and she was only too glad to get rid of him, though she couldn't unless a soul was traded for his, but when Thor offered his soul instead (and he meant every word, because he _would, _too, without hesitation), Hela ended up letting them both go. She does have a soft spot for honor and bravery, after all.

This story is accepted (as well it should be, seeing as it was almost entirely true), though unsurprisingly, Asgard is not pleased with the news of either Loki's return or Thor's choice of bride.

Especially not Sif.

"You—you would marry a mortal?!" she sputters, flushed with anger as she confronts them in the halls.

"It only makes sense," Loki points out, stepping in, "Since Midgard has become aware of the Nine Realms and begins becoming more involved in universal affairs, it is beneficial that Thor take a wife from Midgard in order to bolster the alliance between our realms and to make sure they have a strong representative in foreign affairs. And she shall not be mortal if she feeds on Idunn's apples."

Before Sif can protest further, Thor strides down, patting her on the back. "There's no need to be envious, Sif," he grins. "There's always my brother!"

Immediately green eyes and dark eyes widen in alarm, and Sif and Loki both start making gagging noises, bending over and pretending to retch.

Later, when retching noises have become snickers and Thor and Jane have walked on, Loki says to the warrior, "Still want to kill me?"

Sif snorts. "And force Thor to go retrieve you again? I think not." She's silent a moment, before admitting, "He insists you're redeemed. And besides, he's much happier with you around." Her gaze darkens as she adds, "And with _her." _

"Don't worry," Loki says, smiling in a way that's only slightly teasing. "I'm sure you'll find the right man someday, somebody whose better for you than Thor."

"Shut up," Sif growls, clenching her fists as she glares at him. "Or I might just take back my words and kill you after all."

Loki just smirks, dancing out of the way as she tries to punch him. "Oh, you can _try," _he says. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go destroy Jotunheim."

When Sif raises her eyebrows, Loki widens his eyes, amending, "Oh, did I say 'destroy?' I actually meant 'set up a permanent peace with.'" He strides off down the hall.

"I don't trust you," Sif growls, jogging to catch up with him so she can make sure he stays true to his word and does what he's supposed to for once, instead of causing trouble like he's always been so wont to do.

"Good," grins Loki wolfishly, mischievous as ever. "I'd hate to have to refurbish my reputation."

* * *

**After all, why refurbish his reputation when he can change it (for the better)?**

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**The End. Fin. No more. I'm done. I swear. But hey - I wrapped it up in a neat little package for you, with gold wrapping paper and green ribbons and everything! ;3 Like I kind of liked the end of the Frigga part as the ending, but I figured WTH, and included the last three sections as a sort of epilogue. **

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**Lilith: I'm so glad you enjoyed the story so much! Yes, you can translate this story into Polish if you give me credit ;D And if you send me the link to your translation I'll post it on my profile as well. Thank you for asking permission, love!**

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**Anyways, I'd love to hear your thoughts! ^.^**


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